The Beginning of the End
by UltraViolet41
Summary: On this story: Joan's senior year, plus original characters and more missions from God, all add up for a promise of an interesting year. Enjoy! Rated pg13 for mild language use. [CHAP 17 UP]
1. The new girl

This fanfic was supposed to be co-written by my good mate, The Original Chemist, and me, his associate Miss Chievous a.k.a La Gioconda (and it was co-written for two chapters… well, sort of), but given the situation that I just moved back to Italy and we've been having difficulty keeping in touch enough to be able to write together, the task of finishing this story has befallen on me completely (it was my idea from the very beginning, after all). I had been hoping that, with Mike's penchant for witty dialogue lines and impeccable spelling, and my love for the TV series and _ahem_ God-given gift for creative writing (pun not intended), we could brew something mighty interesting for all you JoA fanfiction authors and readers out there. Unfortunately, that will not be the case anymore; however, since chapters 1 and 2 we're written by both, I will leave his name on those so that he gets his recognition for them. Bear in mind that this was a decision we made together, and we thought it was best (sorry, Anne. We know you were looking forward to Mike's first post. Thanks for reviewing, tho). 

Disclaimer: Joan of Arcadia and all that goes with it belongs to Barbara Hall and CBS. We own original characters and names. No profit is being made from this story. 

Authors' notes: Events in this story take place on Joan's senior year, meaning we've fast-forwarded to the beginning of her last high school year. It's convenient. Expect this story to be sort of long. The whole thing's pretty much mapped out, so no changes will be made along the way to keep up with the TV series episodes as they come out. If you don't like something about this story, you'll just have to deal with it. (And I mean that politely).

Mike: We deserve a Pulitzer.

Alexz: Unchallenged.

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The Beginning of the End

-by The Chemist and his associate

Chapter One – The new girl

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 "Moooom!"

Helen Girardi stopped short from the bathroom door and sighed exasperatedly at the sound of her daughter's voice. She knew what was coming. It was the first day of school, and as every other year, Joan made a big fuss about her appearance; and she was always late for school because of it. Consequentially, so was Helen.

_Oh, I had been so close…_ she thought miserably as she turned away from the bathroom door. She walked to her daughter's room and stood at the open door, her mouth falling open. "Wow, I'm so lucky I missed the tornado. Was it awful?" she joked.

Joan's room was at its full capacity of messy. There was probably nothing left hanging in the closet, as it seemed every piece of clothing she owned was all over the room. Shoes were cascading out the closet door, the jewellery box was haphazardly sitting on the edge of the bed and it seemed to have made explosion, and there were all sorts of makeup stains covering the full-length mirror.

Joan popped out from behind a heap of clothes. "Where's my lavender sweater?"

Helen looked around at all the garments and thought this was a GAP store clerk's nightmare. "Which one?"

"The one I bought last week."

"You expect me to remember a lavender sweater out of fifteen sweaters of all shades of purple you also bought last week?" Helen asked as she tried unsuccessfully not to step on the many skirts and pants carpeting the floor.

"I like purple," Joan said absently-minded.

"It's probably in the dryer."

"Can you get it for me?" Joan put on a pouty face. Helen sighed again.

"Joan, I have to get ready."

"Me too!"

"But you're already dressed."

"Are you out of your mind? I'm not wearing this!" Joan replied outraged, pulling at the blue shirt she had paired with a knee-length denim skirt. "I just threw this on temporarily. This shirt does no good to my skin. I look like I didn't go to the beach this summer," she explained.

"You didn't go to the beach this summer," Helen pointed out.

Joan took a deep breath. "Work with me, mom. I need the lavender sweater. Plus, it would look good with my new earrings. I want to show off my new earrings."

"What is it with you and first day of school? It's only the same as every other day."

"Mom, don't you get it? It's like getting the chance of making a new first impression. You know how you only get one shot at a good first impression? Well, this is like refreshing it."

"And who are you trying to impress? Your teachers? Your friends?" Helen smirked. "Adam?"

Joan stopped fumbling with her makeup and tried not to smile. "Maybe." Helen gave her a knowing look. "Okay, yes. Precisely what I mean. If we didn't see each other during the summer, then I have to look good when I see him again."

"We stayed here during the summer. You saw Adam practically everyday for three months," Helen pointed out again.

"But not the past week," Joan retorted in her well-duh is-this-thing-on tone. "I was busy preparing myself for first day of school, so that today, when I see him, he'll be impressed," Joan finished explaining. "Get it?"

Helen rolled her eyes at her daughter's weird logic. "Alright, Joan, I'll go get you the sweater," she said, "but I have a request. Could your whole new first impression thing include being punctual for school?" Joan didn't answer. She was busy applying mascara in front of the bureau mirror.

"I need new mascara. This one's all goopy," she announced, not hearing what her mother had said. Helen shook her head and went downstairs, to fetch Joan's sweater and start the coffee maker. She was sure to need coffee; it would be a long morning.

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"I wish I'd had some breakfast."

"Oh, you better hope mom doesn't hear you. Didn't she nearly pull out her hair trying to get you to eat something?"

Joan ignored her brother and patted her grumbling stomach. She and Luke were walking toward school, arguing about something pointless, per usual. 

"Are you nervous? Is that why you didn't want to eat?" Luke asked. 

"Why would I be nervous?" Joan said as they rounded the corner of the street and Arcadia High came into view. Her stomach did a weird flip-flop. 

"Well, I know I am, a little bit," Luke replied. "I'm always a bit edgy on the first day. So I pray."

"You pray?" Joan cocked an eyebrow. She had never pegged Luke as the praying type. 

"I pray to God so that I will survive another year of high school."

"A noble cause," Joan said sarcastically. "You would think God would have more important issues to handle," she added, but she knew that wasn't entirely true. If there was one thing she had learned, knowing God the way she did, was that there was no such categorizing of Big and Small issues in His plan. Joan thought for a moment, fidgeting with the buttons of her lavender sweater, as she watched the students swarming around the school grounds. "I guess you could say I'm a bit nervous. It's the first day of school, but it's also the first day of my last year of high school. I'm excited and nervous at the same time."

"Oh, well, if you survive this day, it's a good omen for the rest of the year," Luke commented. Joan didn't respond. That didn't make her feel any better. Something told her this was going to be a strange year. 

"If I didn't see it, I wouldn't believe it," Luke said suddenly. "Grace Polk, early for school?"

Joan put on a shocked face as Grace came up beside them. She nudged Luke's shoulder. "Well, I decided to make an effort to be on time this year. But don't worry; I'm sure it's just a phase. Hopefully I'll be back to normal tomorrow," she said.

"Well, did you fall out of bed? Cuz you're not just in time; you're early," Joan pointed out.

"Really?" Grace asked puzzled. She glanced at her watch. "Mind-boggling. Oh, well, won't happen again, I promise." She smirked. Luke rolled his eyes. 

"Have you seen Adam?" Joan asked Grace. The three of them walked through the double doors and climbed down the steps into the crowded hallways. 

"Wow, took you long enough to ask," Grace teased, causing Joan to roll her eyes. "No, I just got here, remember? He's probably running late."

"Hey, man. You're late," Friedman said, suddenly appearing alongside them.

"Compared to whom?" Luke asked. Friedman looked like he didn't get it.

"Well, I'm off for a while, kids. Gotta go waste my time. Can't believe I'm here _early_;" Grace said, and she wandered away.

Luke and Friedman became immersed in a discussion most likely about something of scientific nature, and of no interest to Joan; ignoring them, she surveyed the crowd in search for Adam, and spotted him at the far end of the hallway, leaning against a wall. Joan smiled.

Ever since the science fair, Joan and Adam had eventually come closer, though there wasn't a very public display of closeness. People just knew they were together, even if they weren't as graphic about it as most couples would be. It was a fact that Adam had had a crush on Joan ever since they met, and Joan had begun liking him too after seeing beyond the misunderstood guy he had become, so from that point it had developed into a sort of relationship. But there was nothing they had really established. It was more of an understatement. That was good enough for Joan at the moment; she realized her missions from God and her friendship with Adam had pretty much begun at the same time, which meant her life had become much more complicated around that time, too. And with her senior year beginning, and her post-high school future still unclear, she didn't need to complicate it even more.

Adam wouldn't hear her if she called out to him, so Joan walked toward him purposely. Just then, a distracted junior with thick-framed glasses and straight brown hair stepped in her way, carrying a tower of books in her arms, and they crashed, the books plummeting to the floor in a heap. 

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," the girl exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. Joan recovered from the collision and tried to keep her cool.

"It's okay; let me help you," she answered, and they both got to their knees and started picking up books. As she did, Joan looked up to check that Adam hadn't left. She noticed there was a girl with him; wavy dark blond hair, slim, wearing a denim skirt, a white top and a pink-pinstriped black jacket with numerous pins attached. 

_New girl_, Joan thought, as she couldn't recall ever seeing her before in Arcadia High. She was pretty, and she was smiling and laughing while talking to Adam. Adam was smiling and laughing, too. Joan noted, that didn't seem like the type of girl (or person, for that matter) Adam Rove would usually hang around with. Now all of a sudden, he was having what appeared to be one of the greatest conversations of his life with the cover model for a fall issue of _Seventeen_. 

"Thanks," the bookish girl said as she picked up the tower of books again with immense difficulty and waddled away. Joan continued to stare at Adam and the stranger girl, half-expecting Adam to suddenly realize she was burning a hole in his head with her eyes.

"Jealousy does not suit you, Joan," a voice said from behind her. Joan turned to find what looked like a freshman boy with wavy red hair and freckles standing behind her, also looking at Adam and the girl. _Oh God_, she mused, slightly annoyed.

"Jealous? What are you talking about?"

God gave her a significant look and glanced at her hand. Joan looked down and realized she was squeezing the life out of her schoolbag with her nails, and immediately let go. She narrowed her eyes at God, just as she did every time she interpreted His omniscience as being smart-alecky.

"You know, it's been so long since the last time I saw you, I was afraid you had decided to let me have a life," she said sarcastically. God pretended not to sense her bad mood and beckoned her over as He began to walk in the opposite direction. Joan cast a last glance in Adam's direction, who was still laughing with the girl, and followed God with a huff. 

"Who is that girl?" she asked Him as they went.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked with a grin, obviously knowing the answer. Joan shot Him a warning look.

"Don't start with me," she responded. "I was just wondering because I've never seen her before."

"That's not important right now. I have something for you to do, if you're interested."

"Ooh, God is telling me what to do, but he's also making me believe I have a choice. This feels like déjà vu," Joan said again with the sarcasm. 

"Well, aren't we testy today," God remarked, for a moment making Joan want to smack Him. "It's the first day of your senior year! You should be happy! It's the beginning of the end; one era makes way to a whole new one. Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"You should know," Joan muttered. They rounded a corner and walked down the hall lined with lockers.

"I do know. But I was hoping you'd try to prove me wrong, maybe by lightening up," God replied. He stopped walking and stood in the middle of the corridor and looked at Joan pointedly. "Anyway, I'm here now, and I have a favor to ask you, and I would appreciate that you change your attitude if you are going to do this for me."

Joan sighed in exasperation. "Can we not talk about my attitude? I have no attitude. So just tell me what I have to do and let's move along." God rolled His eyes.

"At the beginning of the year, the principal requests some senior students to volunteer to be guides for the few new students that transfer from other schools on their last year, which is rather rare. Basically the volunteers show new kids around, help them adapt to the new school system, and in the case of foreign students, help them adjust to the good ol' American high school life," God explained; Joan was nodding in boredom. "As you can guess, it's not complicated at all, but not just anyone would be willing to do it. So…" Joan cocked an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh, yeah. Shouldn't that job be up to the class president and the sort?"

"It's not a job, you just volunteer if you're willing and you do it."

"Yes, and usually the ones who volunteer would be the class president and the sort."

"Mr. Price will tell you what to do," God said, and He looked to his left. Joan followed His gaze and saw Gavin Price, the school principal, talking to a couple of teachers near the end of the corridor. Joan glared at God, who was smiling pleasantly.

"Why don't you just save yourself the 'if you are interested' skit and just straight out boss me around?" Joan retorted, shaking her head. She walked toward Mr. Price, wondering what she was getting herself into this time.

"Mr. Price," she called as she approached him. Price gave her the once-over look and smirked.

"Joan Girardi, you fell out of bed today," he said, pretending to be shocked by Joan's punctuality. "Now I've seen everything."

"Well, you know what you can do next," Joan mumbled. Mr. Price fortunately didn't hear her. "Um, I was wondering if I can still join or volunteer or whatever it is I'm supposed to do so I can show new students around."

"Are you perchance referring to volunteering as a student guide?"

"Yeah, that."

"Interesting, Miss Girardi, when did you start caring for other people?" Price asked cynically. Joan couldn't believe she still had a whole year to endure this man.

"It's a new year, I thought I'd have a shot at something I don't usually do, as part of my quest of being irrelevant in the eyes of others," Joan answered equally cynical.

"Well, since your boat-building illumination of last year, I suppose this is an improvement. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"How hard can it be?" Joan asked with a chuckle.

"Depends on how bad you can manage to look on your permanent record," Price replied. Joan's smile faded. "Anything we can use as reference for your college applications recommendation letters and psychological tests, we will," Price continued. "If you can screw this up, I can screw _you_ up."

Joan put a lot of effort into not attempting to wipe that grin off Price's face, so instead she resorted to more sarcasm. "Oh, I'm scared. What's the downside?"

Price continued smirking. "Be in my office in the next fifteen seconds and I'll find it just for you." He turned to leave. Joan glared at him. She was having second thoughts.

"What, can't I consult it with the pillow first?"

"Your choice, Miss Girardi," Price called, not turning around. For two seconds, Joan stood there considering it. Well, if she really did have a choice…

She turned to go to her locker and forget about the whole thing. God was standing directly behind her, and she nearly came into head-on collision with Him when she spun on her heels. "Oh my freaking—!" she exclaimed, ducking and nearly falling on her bum.

"You have ten seconds, Joan," God said. Joan glared and straightened up. 

"I thought you said I have a choice."

"Nine… eight… sev—"

"Okay, okay! I'm going! Choice my arse… Who knew God could be a hypocrite…" she mumbled under her breath as she glanced angrily at the red-headed boy, and she hurried in the same direction Price had gone.

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"Ah, Miss Girardi, so you are joining us after all," Mr. Price exclaimed as Joan stumbled at the door of the principal's office on her way in.

"Apparently," Joan replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

"Well, you were running late, so I took the liberty to choose your partner for you," Mr. Price continued, gesturing to the other students there, the new ones already partnered with an Arcadia senior, "who is also running late, as it seems. Ah, there she is. Miss Canavaggio!"

Joan looked over her shoulder and saw Adam walk by the office door, still talking to the same girl as earlier. The girl turned her head when Price called her, and walked in. She waved to Adam, and he continued walking, not even seeing Joan.

"Joan Girardi, meet Giordana Canavaggio, transfer student from Italy, first time in Arcadia, though not first time in the United States," Price explained. Joan tried to listen, but she was rather busy burning up with anger inside. Did Adam just ignore her? "I decided to pair you up, since you're both Italian and you're both girls… okay, not really, you were the only two left. I'm sure you'll get along just fine," Price said with mock pleasantry; Joan forced a smile at him and at the new student, who smiled back.

"So, Miss Canavaggio, you have your schedule and other necessary information; welcome to Arcadia High," Price continued, now looking at Giordana. He was acting sincerely nice to her, most unlike his usual behaviour toward students. "I hope Miss Girardi will be of good company to you."

"I'm sure she will," Giordana said, still smiling, a hint of an accent in her voice. Joan wanted to gag.

Price and the other students left the office in different directions, just as the bell rang. But Joan and Giordana just stood there awkwardly. Joan tried to ignore the sideways glances from her mother pretending to use the copying machine.

"So…" Joan began, "Giordana—"

"Please, call me Jordan. It's easier for Americans to pronounce and spell."

"Yeah, I guess," Joan replied. She didn't usually like small talk, so she couldn't really work out anything to say. She was still scrutinizing this girl, already not liking what she saw. Green eyes, flawless skin, nice smile. Pretty and ethnic: lethal combination. "Well, I'm just Joan. That should be simple enough."

Jordan nodded. "Uh, well… it's really nice to meet you," she said unsurely.

"Yeah," Joan muttered through clenched teeth and a stiff smile. She had a bad feeling about this. "Nice."

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Mike: What will happen now to Joan? Where are we going with this? What is with Alexz and purple? Find out on the next chapter, coming soon to a network near you.

Alexz: Why do you talk like that?

Mike: I'm bored.

--Sebastian Melmoth--

[ In the darkness ]


	2. The beautiful occupation

Mike promised that, when he comes visit me in Italy later in May, we'll put up a special chapter written by both (trust me, I will not have been done with this fic by then, I still have a looong way to go). 

Disclaimer: Don't own any recognizable characters. Original characters belong to me. This is a non-profit publication. No class action lawsuit, please. I do not want to have to screw up your lives (and I mean that politely).

------------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by The Chemist and his associate

Chapter Two – The beautiful occupation

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By lunch hour, Joan had already become convinced she didn't like the new girl at all, and she never would, and she was just hoping God would show up and tell her there had been a mistake and she didn't have to be this girl's guide anymore. In the meantime, she had to do what Price told her. After sitting with Jordan in homeroom, Joan had to show her to her first class, and then sit through AP Chemistry with Adam next to her, trying really hard not to smack him at first. He had been all smiles and sweetness when he'd seen her, acting like nothing. He didn't say a word about what she had seen in the hallway, and for some reason, Joan couldn't ask him. She was so glad to see him and talk to him that she forgot why she was mad at him in the first place. That is, until second period: English Literature. _Jordan_ was there. _And_ in the next three periods. Joan even had to be with her during recess. They barely talked, as Jordan mostly spent her time investigating school activities she was interested in, such as the drama club, sports teams, the school newspaper and a whole bunch more (Joan wondered where the newbie expected to get the time to do all that); and Joan didn't feel like talking, anyway. She came across God, still in freshman-boy form, several times in the hallways, and gave Him deadly glares. Obviously He was letting her know He was keeping an eye on her ("I know you're freaking omniscient, you don't have to hound me around like this," she had hissed at Him near her locker the first chance she got), and it was getting on her nerves. 

Before sixth period, Joan realized Adam had art next, and _Jordan_ was with him in that class; it was the only one (so far) Adam and Jordan had together and in which Joan wouldn't be. Not good. Hopefully her mom would keep her daughter's best interests at heart and keep an eye on Adam. Although Helen seemed very friendly toward Jordan, too. And Helen would never think Adam would give Joan reasons to be jealous. _That's what happens when your boyfriend and your mother get along too well,_ Joan thought sourly to herself. Helen seemed to defend Adam more often than she would her own daughter. _Dear sweet Adam, who would never ever give me reasons to be jealous… _ Joan's grip tightened around the strap of her bag again.

"Aren't Italians supposed to have that dark look? You know: dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin?" she was rambling as she and Grace walked down the hallway after Calculus, meeting Luke on his way out of Physics. "I don't think she's really Italian. I think she only said she was to make herself interesting."

"That's the Mediterranean race, they are dark and tanned. Jordan Canavaggio is from Venice, which is in Northern Italy. The people from that region are generally Caucasian. They tend to lighter skin, eyes and hair. Like the French and the Swiss—" 

"Okay, Luke."

"Just be glad she's at least not joining the cheerleading squad. As long as she stays away from them, we're okay. Otherwise I'm not hanging out with you when you're with her."

"Very supportive, Grace."

"Silence, geek."

Luke shoved Grace slightly for that comment, and Grace responded by pulling him into a headlock. Joan rolled her eyes at their juvenile antics, their bizarre way of showing their mutual affection. They entered the cafeteria and got their trays of food and sat at their usual table.

"Why did you volunteer, anyway? Heck, I hadn't even heard about that guide thing until you got the bright idea," Grace asked. Joan did her typical don't-ask-don't-tell wave of hand.

"Meanwhile, if I find out you've joined some ultra-defective a.k.a 'trendy' activity this year, I'm not sponsoring our friendship anymore," Grace continued. "If we have to go through another bout of your bizarre social status experiments, such as your cheerleading interest, I won't be able to stomach it."

"Don't worry, it won't fit into my résumé if I really want to become a nun after I graduate," Joan answered. She caught Grace staring at her in her usual fashion. "I knew that comment would get me 'the stare'."

"'The stare'? What 'stare'?"

"When you do that thing with your eyes," Joan smirked knowingly. "It looks like you're either trying to control my mind or else make your eyes shoot out of your head just so you can freak me out."

"Oh, _that_ 'stare'!" Luke said in understanding. Grace turned to him, only making Luke chuckle. "Yeah, there it is!" he added, pointing at her face. The stare morphed into murderous glare. Luke recoiled.

Joan looked up from the gooey mashed potatoes scoop on her plate and saw Adam walk in. With _Jordan_. And a few other students: Lizzie Johnson, student body president; a black-haired girl that looked like she was new; Friedman, Glynis and a couple of guys Joan knew were in art class; all talking animatedly and laughing. Joan followed Adam and Jordan with narrowed eyes, as they stood in line with all the others. They got their trays, and came over to Joan, Luke and Grace's table, with the exception of Lizzie and the two nameless art students, who went another way.

"Hey, you guys remember Jordan, right?" Adam said as he sat at the heading of the table. Jordan sat across from Joan, and the other girl plopped down beside her.

"Do we get a choice?" Joan mumbled to herself. No one heard her. "In any case," she spoke up, "Jordan, Grace, Luke, Friedman, Glynis, Adam," she pointed at each as she mentioned them. "And I'm Joan."

"Okay, well, this is Erika Weston," Jordan gestured to the girl beside her. She was tall, with blunt-cut chin-length black hair with bangs, bright blue eyes fringed with dark eyelashes and extra eyeliner, and a tiny silver stud on her nose. She wore green cargoes and a grey t-shirt that read "Grand Tomahawk/ it's going down June 2004" in bold black letters. 

"Yo," Erika muttered, unfazed. Grace gave her "the stare".

"Erika is from Sydney, Australia."

"Ooh, down under. How cool," Glynis said with a smile. Erika gave her the once-over and raised an eyebrow. Joan bit her lip.

"Anyway," Jordan continued with a wave of her hand, "her guide is Lizzie Johnson."

"Oh, yeah, el Presidente," Friedman said. "What a drag."

"I've never been in a school that has a system like yours, with a student council and all," Jordan commented.

"How many schools have you been in?" Joan asked curiously.

"Four in the last six years." Everyone gave her a wide berth look. "Three years in Venice, one in Florence, one in London, and one in Edinburgh. All private catholic schools. Which is quite a bugger if you're an anarchist, like me." Everyone nodded in unison. Grace raised her eyebrows in slight surprise.

"I was the president once," Erika put in with her thick Aussie accent. "But I was forced to abdicate when the headmaster threatened to expel me after I passed an amendment to eradicate the male rugby team, and switched the mascot for a real live animal."

"Oh, yeah, what was the team mascot?" Luke asked.

"A wallaby." 

"How awesome!"

Erika shook her head. "Not really. Made my life hell, the faculty did. Bloody fascists," she murmured under her breath and clenched her fist on the tabletop. Joan glanced around the table, at the science geeks and the sub-defectives all sitting at one table. If this wasn't the weirdest combo she'd ever seen…

"So, how about those two, eh? They're hot," Friedman was saying. He, Glynis and Luke were trailing behind Joan and Grace through the hallways after the bell rang to end lunch hour and they left the cafeteria to go to a pep rally in the gym. 

Grace glanced at Friedman over her shoulder. "Are you by any chance referring to Arcadia High's brand new outcasts?"

"Outcasts? Jordan and Erika are more popular than those in the right cliques right now, and they only just got here. They've obviously got their something," Luke said. Joan shot him a look, but he didn't see her.

"Yeah, they're hot." Friedman added.

"Dude, it's not just because of that."

"But they are."

"I know that, but they're also, I don't know… they have something else."

"They're foreign."

"You two need to get a life and stop drooling over the fresh meat," Grace scolded them.

"Drooling? There's no drooling," Luke retorted. He glanced at Friedman, who seemed to be experiencing excessive salivation. Luke rolled his eyes. "Well, not from my part."

"Okay, only a few more hours, and the day is over, and I can go home and forget about everything," Joan announced as she and Grace approached the gym entrance.

"Don't be so sure, Joan," a voice said next to her. Joan stopped in her tracks and looked at the person who had spoken. A stout woman in a long, thick brown overcoat and a woolly grey scarf tied up to her chin stood in the corner, rummaging through a tattered shoulder bag. Joan wouldn't have done a double-take if she didn't already suspect who she was.

"What now? Shall I place an application for an international exchange program?" she asked, forgetting Grace was standing right there, waiting for her. "Umm, you go ahead, I'll be there in a sec," Joan said t to her, and Grace gave an odd stare in God's direction before she entered the gym.

"So, how are things with Jordan? Everything cool?" God asked, looking up from Her bag.

"You should know, right? And don't say the word 'cool', it's not very 'cool' coming from you," Joan retorted.

"Are you going to start having a better attitude toward your position? You're not doing a very good job, you know you could do better," God was saying, and Joan was rolling her eyes over and over. "If Price notices, you could get in trouble with him."

"Yeah, Price… what's with him anyway? How come he's nice to Jordan? Is it because she's new? Because he was never nice to me when I first got here; he was plain mean, just like I've always known him to be."

"This is not about Price, is it?" God asked with an impatient sigh, as if She were dealing with a five-year-old. 

"Again, you should know."

"Well, I do, and since you do, too, then what we have to figure out is what you're going to do about it."

Joan made sure no one was around, but she spoke in a low hiss anyway. "I don't have to do anything, okay? You insist that I have a choice; well I choose not to do anything about anything, because every time I do, I never get it right. And frankly, I'm done with that. You're the one who set me up with Jordan, you tell me what I have to do. I'm not freaking psychic."

God didn't recoil, even though Joan appeared to be fuming. "Just do what you think is the right thing to do. See you later, Joan," She said, and walked off. Joan did her best imitation of "the stare", but it was no use, because God wasn't facing her. She counted to ten in her mind and went inside the gym.

------------------------------

 "Ah, I thought this day would never be over," Luke was saying, stretching out his arms in sign of tiredness. He, Joan, Adam, Grace and Erika stood outside in the grounds as the school building emptied after the dismissing bell rang. They were waiting for Jordan, who was talking with Helen just inside the double doors. 

Joan dropped her bag beside her and plopped onto the grass. "What are you talking about? We still have a whole freaking afternoon, and can you believe all the homework we got? There should be a law against giving us assignments on the first day!" she responded.

"We got one chemistry assignment and one English lit, Miss Drama Queen. What are you whining about? It could be worse," Grace asked. Joan glared at her.

"Don't pass judgement, James Dean."

"So, Erika, where do you live now?" Adam asked, trying to divert the others from any bouts of dumb pointless bickering.

"I'm on the 18th with my dad, his girlfriend, Sam, and her son, Troy," Erika answered nonchalantly as she toyed with the dog tags she was wearing as a belt," who also happens to be this guy I know since we were ten. It's sort of complicated."

"Why? Because your parents are dating?" asked Joan. 

"No, because _we_ were dating."

Joan didn't know what to answer to that. "Oh," she put mildly.

"So you're not dating Troy anymore, I presume?" Luke said.

"Technically, yes, but our parents don't know it. Anyhow, Troy and I are plotting to break them up," Erika replied. The others gave her odd looks, and she shook her head. "Oh, no, it's okay. They make a terrible couple, trust me. Dad only does it to spite mum, but mum is too much into her own little world to actually care. Right now she's probably in some fashion show in Milan, buying an absurdly expensive bizarre Jean-Paul Gautier dress that later she will try to make me wear. But oh well, better to deal with her than with _Sam_. No offence to Troy, but his mum's a real nutter."

Grace whistled and tried not to smile. "Oh well, guess I won't be complaining about my family anymore."

"It's like something out of _The Parent Trap_, only backwards," Luke commented. Grace gave him an odd stare, and Luke blushed. "Not that I'd know, really. Never watched that movie," he added quickly. 

Joan was about to counter that point, when she heard her mom say goodbye. She turned around to respond, when she realized Helen had been calling out to Jordan, who was coming their way, waving back to Helen. Joan frowned and sighed. "Hey, riddle me this: what's new, pinstriped and annoyingly popular?" she asked in a sarcastic voice.

"Alex Rodriguez in his new Yankees uniform?" Erika tried. Joan looked at her questioningly. Erika smirked and shrugged. "Sorry. Baseball fan." Joan raised an eyebrow and didn't reply as she grabbed her book bag and stood up. Jordan appeared beside her.

"Sorry I kept you waiting. I was going over some stuff about art class with Mrs. Girardi," she apologized. Joan cringed at the sound of her surname. She didn't like the way Jordan pronounced it; it was too… _Italian._ Though she realized how ridiculous that was. After all, her surname _was_ Italian. 

"Well, I'm off," Grace announced. "Dentist appointment. If I leave now…" she glanced at her watch and shrugged. "Whatever, I'm still gonna be late, so see ya," she waved and shuffled away. Luke started to leave too. 

"I'm going too. Friedman and I have business to attend to," he said. 

"I'm just going to go home," Erika said. "If I get there now, I can leave and stay away longer."

"Can I go with you? You live on the 18th, right? There's a bookstore and a drugstore there. I thought I'd go and hang out there for a while," Jordan said.

"Why don't you go home?" Adam asked.

"They're polishing the floors. Big mess. Too much noise."

"Oh, then," Adam began, turning away from the other two and facing Joan, "why don't you go with her? You know, to keep her company," he suggested. 

Joan tried her best not to give him a deadly glare. "Why would she need my company? I'm sure she knows her way around town," she replied.

Adam gave her an innocent smile, and Joan found herself unable to say no. "Well, you are her student guide, so I thought maybe this would help the two of you bond. You know, get to know each other better. Maybe the two of you could be friends, since you seem to get along fine already."

_Oh, dear sweet naïve Adam, ever the oblivious one_, Joan thought privately. She did her best to smile sincerely at him. "Well, you're coming with us, right?"

"Nah, I can't, sorry. I promised my dad I would help him paint the kitchen."

Joan's face fell. 

"Have a good time," Adam said. He waved goodbye to the girls and left. Joan stared after him disappointed, then back at Erika and Jordan, looking expectantly at her.

So the day wasn't over after all. And it had just gotten a whole lot longer.

------------------------------

Joan surveyed the makeup stands in the drugstore, trying to remember why she was there in the first place. _Oh yeah, goopy mascara. Need new one._ But then there was the question of why she was there _with __Jordan__._

_Being nice to her,_ she thought to herself. _Or at least pretending._

After walking Erika home (and witnessing a very weird scene from outside the lobby, involving a fuming Erika and whom Joan and Jordan presumed was the father's girlfriend, Sam, bickering over the dozen shopping bags Sam showed up with, as they got in the elevator), Joan walked with Jordan down to the drugstore to pass the time looking at magazines and hair products. They would have stopped at Skylight library, but Joan avoided going in there, otherwise Sammy would ask her to fill in for him for the afternoon, and what Joan really wanted was to get rid of Jordan as soon as possible, so she could finally go home and not do homework.

She picked up a Maybelline black brown mascara and read the package. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jordan skimming the perfume section. 

Why her? Out of all people, why did God pair her up with Jordan Canavaggio, Miss Italy 2004, queen of the transfer students? That God worked in mysterious ways was a fact Joan was reluctantly learning to accept. However, if He would only explain Himself sometimes, maybe Joan would be better at what she did, and maybe she would carry out her tasks with a better attitude. But all He did was tell her what to do, leading her with only hints. And they weren't even good hints; He could be so ambiguous that no one but Him could figure Himself out. So half the time she felt disoriented and even a little scared; kind of like walking blind-folded around a furniture store.

Joan watched Jordan pick up different testers and smell them. She smiled pleasantly as she sniffed some Clinique Happy. Joan stared at her oddly.

Maybe she shouldn't judge this girl too quickly. After all, she barely knew her. It was just that she had been so ticked when she saw her being so chummy with Adam; it still ticked her, because they had been so chummy throughout the day, and Joan couldn't figure out why. But that didn't mean anything. Why would it? Adam barely knew Jordan, too. They had just met, and Adam was just being nice to her because she was new. Yeah, that was it.

In any case, God hadn't said anything about having to be friends with Jordan. But Joan knew she had to start being nicer to her, even if it killed her. Maybe she would actually _like her_. Even if little miss _Seventeen_ fall issue cover turned out to be a bigger snob than she seemed at first glance.

And even then, Jordan seemed to be a nice snob. Polite, outgoing and friendly. If sub-defectives, like Adam and Joan herself, apparently were good enough to hang out with her, then she definitively couldn't be_ that bad_.

Joan kept watching Jordan, while trying to choose between the Maybelline and the Cover Girl mascaras. Jordan examined a bottle of Ralph Lauren Ralph in her hand.

_And dropped it into her bag._

Joan's eyes grew the size of dinner plates, and she looked away.

She had barely seen it. It was done so swiftly and quickly, it was almost imperceptible. But she knew what she saw. 

Did Jordan really just do what Joan just saw her do? This was… awful and very strange, and Joan's head began to swirl. What was going to happen now? What would she say to Jordan? What would Jordan say to her? Would she say anything at all, or would she think Joan hadn't even seen her?

Joan snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye. Jordan was back to looking at the other bottles. No clerk was nearby, no one came around to check on them. Nothing happened. Joan would have thought a bunch of sirens would have been wailing by now, and cops swirling into the scene. But nothing happened.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, _she thought over and over again, unable to move. Maybe that would actually summon God and he'd get her out of there. She _had_ to get out of there. There was _no way_ she was leaving the store with Jordan. 

She started thinking really hard and really fast, as Jordan came around and started skimming the makeup section, too. Maybe Joan had only seen Jordan take the Ralph Lauren. What if she had a whole bunch of stuff in her purse? What if Jordan actually dared to take a lipstick or something right under Joan's nose? And what the hell would Joan do then?

"Joan, we can go now if you like, I've taken up enough of your time," Jordan said, breaking the silence. Joan was startled, but she managed a weak smile. 

"Uh… yeah, I—I just got to… pay for this," Joan stuttered. _You idiot! What if she suggests you put it in her purse, so you don't have to pay for it?!_

Why did she do it? Why on earth would Jordan Canavaggio steal? She didn't seem like that kind of person. Then again, Joan thought as she walked like a zombie toward the cashier, Joan wasn't very good with first impressions, as she had come to realize over the past years. And Joan had just been thinking to herself that Jordan, at first glance, gave the impression of being nice and nearly perfect.

"Eight dollars and ninety cents. Would you like a bag?"

Joan didn't answer the clerk right away. She was staring in fear and shock as Jordan walked toward the exit with a sort of natural determination, right in front of the clerks.

_Great! Now the detector is gonna start beeping like crazy!_

Joan then realized there was no detector at either side of the door. _What kind of store doesn't have a freaking detector?_ she thought unnerved, as Jordan stepped outside and grinned at her through the glass door. _Should I tell her I saw her? Should I tell the clerk, anyone? Do I dare to just play dumb? Police officer daughter play dumb in front of a crime?_

Unable to utter a word, Joan took her change and the tube of mascara in the small plastic bag the clerk handed her with a smile. Stepping slowly, she followed Jordan out and didn't meet her eyes or spoke again until they went their separate ways. __

------------------------------

Alexz: more coming soon.

Mike: Is that all you're going to say?

Alexz: I don't have your God-given gift of babbling.

--Sebastian Melmoth--

[ In the darkness ]


	3. Breaking up the girl

I'm being the unfathomable procrastinator that I hate being (and I can no longer blame it on Mike, dangit). Sorry it took so long to post chapter three (even when it was already stored in the doc manager). I've had a couple of hectic weeks, and I'm just settling back into peace of mind. Thanks to the people who reviewed. Yes, they are only a few, but they _really_ made my day, and that's what counts. And then again, it's a looooong story, so perhaps many more reviews are still to come (and I will love them too). Under-Cover Redhead, I can't answer your question, sorry. It will spoil future chapters. Be patient, tho.

Disclaimer: I am a humble writer; I do not claim ownership over any recognizable characters, places and events. I'm just borrowing, and I promise to give them back as soon as I'm done with them. I do however declare property rights over original characters, names, places and events. No profit is being made through this publication.

------------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Three – Breaking up the girl

------------------------------

All throughout the next couple of days, Joan was mortified. Primarily because school had gone back to normal and teachers were giving them a hard time and tons of work as usual; also because she didn't feel things between her and Adam were going as smooth as they used to (and Joan couldn't help but feel it had something to do with a certain Italian transfer student). But mostly now because of the burden she was carrying and didn't know how to get rid of.

Staying away from Jordan was not as hard as she thought it would be; when the newbie wasn't surrounded by the senior student body, she was busy talking to the drama club president or the school newspaper chief editor or the girls' soccer team coach or Helen. In any case, Price didn't seem to notice Joan wasn't exactly doing her job one hundred percent, and God had stopped hounding her (or if He did, He must have changed His appearance). Even Helen hadn't asked her again after the one time she drew in her mini-questionnaire as soon as Joan got home from the drugstore (and Joan had been very _monosyllabic_ in her answers).

On Thursday, after a very long day full of back-to-school pep rallies and meetings out of a half thousand pep rallies and meetings they had throughout the week, the gang plus the two newest additions settled on doing something relaxing after school. Like frapuccinos or at least lying on the grass in the park acting like they didn't have any work they were supposed to finish (or rather, _start_) for the next day.

They agreed to meet in front of Erika's building; when Joan and Luke arrived, Adam was already there_. With __Jordan_(was she wearing the Ralph Lauren perfume? Joan wasn't sure). They stood around leaning against the wall of the next-door local, which looked like a beauty salon, closed at the moment. A few minutes later Grace showed up. But Erika was a non-show, and they had been ringing the intercom button for a while now.

"You know, I don't think she's home," Luke pointed out.

"No shit, Sherlock," Grace retorted.

"Are you sure you got the right address?" Luke asked Jordan.

"Absolutely. We dropped her off here the other day, didn't we, Joan?"

Joan avoided her eyes and her question. "This is pointless."

"Maybe she had to go out," Grace said.

"No, she didn't. Adam, just try ringing again," Joan commanded annoyed.

Adam wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on something behind Joan. Joan turned to see what it was; Jordan was ripping off the "Push" sign from the glass door of the beauty salon. When she had the metallic plaque in her hand, she straightened it out a bit and put it in her purse. She looked nonchalantly at the others until she realized they were all staring at her wide-eyed. "What?"

Adam and Grace broke down into giggles and Luke and Joan continued to stare open-mouthed.

"I can't believe you just did that," Luke said with an evident smile on his face. Adam and Grace couldn't stop laughing. Joan couldn't see what was so funny.

"Um, I've always wanted one of these," Jordan answered innocently, patting her purse, and she winked.

"That was priceless, yo," Adam managed to say between gasps for air.

Joan couldn't believe it. Here Jordan was doing something wrong and dumb (no matter how small a deal it could be) and these idiots found it amusing. Of course they did; they didn't see what Joan had seen. They didn't witness Jordan stealing more than a stupid "Push" tag from a door. Even then, Joan couldn't bring herself to say anything.

"Oh, blimey," said someone behind them. They turned to find Erika pulling the door to her building open and stepping out, pulling along a tall boy with too-tanned skin, spiky brown hair and a piercing on his eyebrow. They smiled sheepishly. "Sorry to keep you waiting, little girls," Erika said, causing Luke and Adam to give her a weird look. "Big chaos up there. Not nice. This is Troy," she gestured to the boy beside her. He grinned with a set of perfectly-aligned white teeth and waved. "Yo," he said. Joan couldn't help but think he was very cute. For a moment she forgot about the vandalized door of the beauty salon.

The seven teenagers stopped at a coffee shop and bought frapuccinos (Joan wondered if Jordan would attempt to walk away without paying for hers), and then they walked around aimlessly until they reached the park, and they all dropped down on the grass, sipping on their drinks and talking about random stuff. Joan didn't feel like talking. She kept looking over at Adam and Jordan, who seemed to be sitting too close together, talking quietly.

Joan hadn't found a single chance to talk to Adam alone. She wanted to tell him it was getting on her nerves, all that talking he did with Jordan. Of course, she would never admit that she was jealous; especially not if it meant she was jealous of Jordan Canavaggio. She just wanted to know what exactly was it that Adam and Miss Venice discussed so privately all the time, and how come Adam was ignoring Joan all of a sudden.

Okay, so he wasn't exactly ignoring her. And it wasn't like she put a lot of effort on spending time alone with him. But it still felt like they were unconsciously drifting away from each other. And the _amazing appearing act of __Jordan_wasn'thelping much either.

Besides, Joan constantly found herself thinking about the drugstore incident. She couldn't believe what she had seen, or that she hadn't done anything about it. Who was she supposed to tell? The obvious answer was Jordan, of course; she was the first person Joan should talk about this. That could either be the solution or make things a whole lot worse. After all, Joan had apparently found out about Jordan's presumed shoplifting problem before she even knew when Jordan's birthday was.

How could this girl be a shoplifter? She didn't look or act like a person who would be a shoplifter. Those were usually the type of people who did risky things all the time; like atomic surfing, smoking pot, or piercings and tattoos.

Of course, it turned out Jordan _did_ have a thing for piercings and tattoos. Just that day they had been talking and they all had found out that Jordan had a tattoo on her lower back, a piercing on her tongue and an extra earring on the top of her left ear, all of which had been revealed when a stupid comment from Luke on Grace's semi-secret navel piercing sparked up a conversation about body art (and Joan couldn't be left out. She became the hot topic when she showed them the long-kept-secret tattoo on her right calf. Right now, she couldn't care any less about getting that kind of attention.)

Joan herself had a tattoo, alright, and she was definitively not the kind of person who would steal. Of course, she also didn't look like the sort of person who would have a tattoo. And anyone would think Jordan Canavaggio was traced along the same line. But, as Joan had found out, Jordan might as well be a walking-talking contradiction.

She was right to have a bad feeling about this girl.

At that moment, Adam apparently said something funny, because Jordan laughed and shoved him playfully by the shoulder. Joan looked disgusted. "I'm gonna go find a trash can," she said a little too loud and stood up. Even if there was a trash can right there, she walked right past it and headed for the path behind them.

"I thought we were through this," someone said, and Joan looked around trying to find the speaker. There stood a tall handsome man with curly dark hair topped with a black fedora hat, wearing the vest and pants of a tweed suit, which made him look like he had just stepped out of a 1940's New York-set movie. He was tinkering with a large format stand camera, and when Joan approached, he looked up and smiled.

"P-pardon?" Joan asked. He was very attractive, and she had trouble formulating full sentences or thinking straight. He pushed the hat out of his face.

"Jealousy. It does not suit you. I thought we had agreed on that," he replied. Joan immediately realized who it was and she ignored the fact that he was really hot.

"You look really odd, you know that?" she said, examining Him from head to toe. God crossed his arms and grinned charmingly.

"I like the outdated look. I think anachronism is cool," He countered.

"And didn't we agree you would not include the word 'cool' in your vocabulary?" Joan retorted.

"Why are you so upset all the time? Who can actually be in such a bad mood when the afternoon is this beautiful?"

"Yeah, beautiful," Joan said with a puff. "Just perfect. Perfect! Do you act like this exclusively to annoy me?"

"Like what?"

"Like you don't know what's wrong with me!"

"Why don't you elaborate?"

"Oh, okay. What were you thinking?!" Joan blurted out, startling a couple of old ladies sitting on a bench nearby. "Do you realize you just paired me up with a shoplifter? I thought you had demonstrated a strong position against that sort on your precious ten commandments. 'Thou shall not steal'. Does that ring a bell?"

"Of course," God was grinning as if He and Joan were talking pleasantly over drinks. Joan couldn't be half as mad at Him as she wanted because He looked so cute.

She sighed in defeat. "Then why make me hang out with a thief?"

"What kind of a friend are you?" God asked, disappearing under the black cloth, making Joan wonder if He was actually paying full attention to her.

"Friend? Are you referring to me as Jordan's friend? I am _not_ her friend."

"Why not?" God took a few pictures.

"Because… she's new and…"

"Lonely." God said as he emerged from under the cloth. Joan shot him a look.

"She's not lonely. She's got the whole student body holding her up in a pedestal."

"You really like to look at things from your point of view, don't you?"

Joan gave Him a subdued version of "the stare" "How else would I look at it?"

"Because you become completely biased."

"I do not!"

"Tell me exactly why you don't like Jordan."

"Have you not heard a word I have said? She's a thief!"

"You know, it might just be a little more complicated than that."

"How complicated?"

"Did you know there are some six thousand million ways to look at a picture? It's because there are six thousand million different pairs of eyes to look at it, minus the percentage of people who have no sight," God said, and Joan rolled her eyes slightly and wondered where this was going. She also wondered if she dared interrupt Him to ask what the purpose was of having people in the world that had eyes but couldn't see.

"We can discuss that later if you want," God answered, reading Joan's mind.

"Maybe," Joan replied bluntly.

"There are many things that go into what a person sees with one glimpse at that picture," He continued. "A great part of it is what the person has gained through his or her own experience, through life. There is only one concrete story behind the picture, but many ways to interpret it. It depends not so much on the eye of the beholder, but on the mind. It's what you can discern from your own life story in that picture what makes you see it one way, and others see it many ways different from your own. It doesn't really matter who is closer to the truth and who isn't; the important thing is to keep an open mind, and try to see beyond what is there."

Joan was nodding involuntarily, because she was trying very hard to keep up. God seemed to notice that, and He tried to be plainer. "Everybody's got a story, like the picture has its own. Sometimes, not very often, it's plainer to see, and other times –most of the time— you have to look deeper. Just like you can't judge a book by the cover. And you can't judge a person by a first impression." God tipped His hat again. "I'm sure you remember what that was like when you first met Adam."

Joan nodded slightly at the mention of Adam. Obviously she couldn't carry on pretending she didn't care. "Are you saying Jordan's got a story? And I have to find it out?"

"I'm saying it's your choice. If you want to think she's a thief or you want to find out the _why_ behind the whole situation. You either know her or you _really know her_."

"Okay, I get it," Joan put her hands up defensively. "Just tell me what I should do."

God grinned again. "Here's an idea. You could invite Jordan over to your house tomorrow. Maybe have her sleep over." Joan gave Him a horrified look, but He went on. "Make her feel welcome, like one of the group. But this should be just you and her. Spend the night doing girl stuff, like giving each other facials and _talking_." He punctuated the last word.

Joan made a face. "Talking," she echoed. God nodded. "What if she steals something from my house?" Joan asked.

"Well, it has happened before," God answered, and Joan knew He was referring to the time Clay Fisher stole her father's police chief badge right from her kitchen. She gave God that cocky knowing smile, but He shook his head. "However, that's not the case this time. I told you it's a bit more complicated."

Joan shrugged in defeat. "Fine. I'll ask her today."

God smiled in satisfaction and started packing up His camera. "You have vision, Joan Girardi. Don't let quick judgment _or_ jealousy blur that vision." With that, He reaffirmed the hat on His head and walked off. Joan spun on her heel and headed toward the spot where her friends were still lazily lounging on the grass.

------------------------------

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly, while Joan formulated the way to casually invite Jordan to sleep over at her house, up to the point when she actually had to do it. She caught Jordan by herself and nearly made a fool of herself because she was tripping over her every word; it just felt so awkward. Jordan didn't seem to notice, though, because she smiled somehow gratefully and accepted right away. Then they all went home and Joan was left wondering what she was getting herself into.

Helen demonstrated great enthusiasm when Joan announced to her that she was having a "friend" over for the next day, when it turned out that this "friend" was Helen's best new art student. Apparently Jordan was quite the art history expert, what with being raised in the cradle of art, and Helen was just thrilled to have one of those in her class.

"Don't get me wrong; Adam is still one of my best students, and he's an amazing artist. But it's nice to find a serious art student with whom I can actually talk about all art in the broad sense of the word," she explained to her daughter, and then went off to spend the evening going over her mini library of art.

Friday morning, Joan noticed some random students were giving her weird looks, and she asked Grace what it was all about. Apparently word had gotten out that she had invited Jordan Canavaggio to spend the night at her house, and some people –the usual gossips who had nothing better to do than pummel the poor martyr souls roaming the hallways— were making speculations about that. Among the few insinuations that perhaps she had some romantic interest in the new girl, there were those much more coveted of Joan's frustrated quest for popularity reaching its peak with her desperate attempt to befriend the popular Jordan. Fortunately, Jordan had somehow stayed oblivious to that buzz, for which Joan was very relieved. It could have turned into the most embarrassing situation she had been in by far. And Joan had been in _a lot_ of embarrassing situations.

The rumours seemed to subside nearing the end of the day, and of course Joan was glad, since she already had enough to deal with. Grace had been weird with her all day, too; there was something Adam said about Joan being Grace's only female friend, and it made her think: perhaps Grace was feeling left out. Joan never thought Grace could be the type of girl who actually liked things like sleepovers and the sort, but she was often wrong about things like that. What was she supposed to do, anyway? She had to talk to Jordan _alone_ at some point. It was not as if she actually had this sleepover idea just for the fun of it. Of course, nobody knew that.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? We'll do something," Joan called after Grace as the gang split to go to their respective homes. Grace didn't respond, just kind of waved over her shoulder and went away. Joan bit her lip. She had enough worrying about the Jordan issue, she couldn't handle being in a tight corner with Grace right now. Joan walked home trying to figure out just what exactly she and Jordan were supposed to do once Jordan came over.

She didn't have to worry much about that after all. Upon Jordan's arrival, she was abducted by Helen into the living room where they sat for hours talking about art, going over books and stuff. They didn't even notice when Joan disappeared into the kitchen to get a snack. Later, Will and Kevin got home from work at almost the same time, and Joan walked back into the living room to find Jordan flirting innocently with her older brother, who didn't seem to mind the attention at all. Joan dragged Jordan away, planning on setting a movie and letting the rest of the night pass by quietly, but Will swooped in and he and Jordan launched into a half-hour long conversation about Italy and everything that had to do with it. By the time they were done, Joan was tired and wanted to sleep, but she knew she had to have that talk with Jordan, and now she just wanted to get it over with.

"So… who is it that you live with again?" Joan began, wondering how on earth she would casually bump into the subject she had to discuss. They were now alone in Joan's room, and seeing as it was past eleven on a Friday, neither of them felt like doing much else, so they were getting ready for bed.

Jordan sat at Joan's bureau brushing her hair. "My mom and my sister, Giulia," she responded. She didn't seem in the mood for talking. Joan wouldn't blame her, after all the talking she had already done with her parents and Kevin.

"And how come you moved to the U.S.? Didn't you like it better in Italy?"

"Oh, yes, but..." Jordan said dismissively, "there are lots of things. Giulia decided to take a year off before she did her masters, and we like to travel, so we came with her. And… some other stuff…" She trailed off with a serious look and went back to brushing her hair, and Joan took it as a sign she shouldn't pry about that.

"I really like it here," Jordan continued after a long pause. "Arcadia is nice; it's quiet and peaceful and there's something decadent about it… in a good sense. It reminds me a lot of my neighbourhood in Venice."

"Really?"

"And the people are nice. Well, most of them. I mean, at least the people at school. And of course, _you_ are really nice. Maybe the nicest person I've met here so far."

Joan smiled faintly. Oh, this was going to be weird.

"And of course, there's Adam," Jordan added. Joan instinctively frowned. She started feeling she just had to get it out of her system or she would explode.

"I don't know why, but it feels like nothing could go wrong in this town. I've had my share of disastrous adjustments to new cities, but somehow, I feel like now everything's going to be fine and—"

"I saw you," Joan blurted out. Jordan stopped mid-sentence and looked puzzled.

"What?"

"At the drugstore, I… I saw you." Joan began to fidget as she waited for Jordan's reaction, which was not at all what she had expected; the girl got a sort of deer-in-headlights look, but realization seemed to dawn on her and she looked sad.

"Oh…" she muttered, biting her lip. "I should've known."

Joan was perplexed. "Mm?"

"I sensed it, you know?" Jordan began. "I could feel I was being watched at that moment. And yet I went through with it. I tried to stop myself," she said almost apologetically. "I guess it was too tempting: no cameras, no detectors. How easier could it be?" She sighed and looked down at her lap. "For a moment there I thought I actually got away with it. I figured that, if you had seen me, you would've told on me or something."

Joan blinked hard. "Huh? Why would I do that?"

Jordan lowered her voice a notch and looked embarrassed. "Well, when we first met, I kind of got the feeling that… you didn't like me."

Joan tried not to be so surprised and keep herself from blushing. So Jordan wasn't so dense after all. "Oh, um… why- why would you think that?"

"I don't know. I guess I was wrong. I mean, you didn't tell on me, you invited me to spend the night at your house, _and_ you're telling me that you saw me. If you didn't like me, you wouldn't bother to help me. And I appreciate it. And I'm really sorry I misjudged you." Jordan looked even sadder. Joan began to feel a little disgusted with herself.

"That's, um… just fine," she stammered. Jordan sighed, and Joan sighed, and the room was filled with tension, and Joan just wanted to get rid of that tension. She put on her friendliest smile and scooted to the foot of her bed, so that she was closer to where Jordan sat. "So… would you like to talk about it?"

Jordan looked up and she seemed relieved to see Joan was being understanding. "I don't know why I do it. I don't even know how I got started… I don't do it all the time. Sometimes it depends on the situation; sometimes it's too tempting, and I can't keep myself from doing it. And sometimes I don't even realize it until it's too late."

Joan was baffled. It could only mean one thing. "They have a name for that, don't they?"

Jordan let out something between a chuckle and a sigh. "If you're thinking of the term _kleptomania_, then yes… that's exactly what I am…"

_So this is what is so complicated about it,_ Joan mused to herself. "Does anyone else know about this?"

Jordan hesitated for a moment. "My friend Dante. He's known me all his life; he's the one who pointed out what I was doing. I hadn't even realized it before he told me."

Again, Joan was baffled. "And… have you told anyone else? Or at least thought about it?" For a split second, Jordan was petrified.

"Not really. If I tell my mom, I don't know what she would do about it. Maybe she'll find me a psychiatrist, or have me interned, and I don't need that. I don't think I could handle that." She looked worried all of a sudden. Joan didn't know how to go from there.

"Maybe you do need it," she said, then mentally kicked herself. That didn't sound very sensitive. Jordan shook her head, frightened at the very prospect.

"No… I swear it's not as bad as it sounds. I can handle it myself, I just need some help." She seemed trapped. "When I was with Dante, he helped me. And even when we were apart, he checked up on me. He was something of a long-distance therapist to me; but I haven't spoken to him in a while." She looked sad again. "Maybe that's why I've been stealing again. I guess I have forgotten what it's like to have that sort of support…"

Joan bit her lip insecurely. "But wouldn't professional help be—"

"No!" Jordan exclaimed. "Joan, I don't need to go to a shrink. I'm telling you, I'm not that bad. I just need support. I need someone to remind me that I can stop myself from stealing." She sighed deeply. "Otherwise, if I keep doing this, I'm going to get in real trouble one day, with the law." She suddenly was aghast. "Your father is a cop, isn't he?"

"I'm not telling him, Jordan, don't worry," Joan answered with a wry smile, making Jordan grin sheepishly. Joan cleared her throat and considered carefully what she was about to say. She realized then what it was that God had actually meant for her to do.

"Maybe I… could help you," she began hesitantly. "You know… like your friend Dante used to do."

Jordan's face was blank, making Joan impatient. Was this how this whole thing was supposed to be going? The girl's expression turned to insecurity. "Why would you want to help me?"

Joan thought back to her conversation with God in the park, and she realized what He had meant: there was so much more to this girl who appeared to get anything she could ask for. Beneath her façade, Jordan was just a regular girl who had moved away from home to a whole new place and she felt lonely, and she had problems with which she could not deal alone.

This time, Joan's friendly smile was real. "Because that's what friends are for."

Jordan and Joan looked at each other for a long time, an evident smile on both of their faces. Something was being settled between them, like an unspoken bond. This was a secret between the two, and it would remain that. Jordan didn't even have to ask. And Joan agreed to it, and she didn't even have to say it out loud, either. She wasn't sure if this established a formal friendship bond between them, but it was good enough for now.

Promptly, Joan broke the eye contact and slid backwards on the bed so that she could get under the covers. "Well, now that that's settled, I guess we can call it a night. I'm tired," she said, breaking into a yawn. Jordan nodded and went to get into bed too. She settled back onto the mattress with a sigh.

"Ooh, this is one comfy bed," she murmured. Joan looked over at her and smiled. Suddenly it wasn't so weird to have Jordan spend the night; she realized she hadn't had a sleepover in years. It seemed she would have forgotten what it was like to have a close girlfriend with whom she could do this sort of thing. This was nice.

"Yes, that's the main reason why sleeping is my favourite hobby," she responded. Jordan let out a chuckle, then got serious again.

"You know, not many people would be so cool about befriending a kleptomaniac after knowing what they are," she said as Joan turned off the lamp on her nightstand.

Joan grinned thoughtfully. "Um, I guess that's accurate."

"Thank you for giving me a second chance."

"Don't mention it."

------------------------------

Mike: And they lived happily ever after.

Alexz: You're taking the mickey out on me and I don't appreciate it.

[ In the darkness ]


	4. All I need is a little discourage

Sorry it took me so long. I've had a bad week, I just had my worst birthday ever (I got really sick and couldn't do anything!), and I think I'm having a quarter-life crisis (if there's actually such thing). Oh, and the rain is wearing me down. Luckily, this chapter was finished before the weather managed to bring me down (not much to do, you know, though it gives me an excuse to drive around in my new caaaar!!!). But that's beside the point. End of phase one. Too many phases yet to go.

Shouts out to my good mate, Sebastian Melmoth whom, even if he's unable to co-write this with me as we had originally planned, has decided to be my beta reader nonetheless and contribute that way in the making of this fic. I really appreciate his assistance, and I'm sure he'll do a fine job. Oh, and thanks for the birthday present!!!! I loved it!!!!

Disclaimer: Don't own recognizable characters or names or places or events. They belong to Barbara Hall and CBS. I do own original characters, names, places and events. I'm not making any profit off of this.

------------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Four – All I need is a little discourage

------------------------------

Joan was glad Saturday had finally come so she could sleep in after a long first week of school, and after all the tossing and turning she had done the previous nights, which she blamed on the drugstore incident. Now that things had been straightened out, she could rest her mind. Besides, she didn't think her houseguest would have wanted to get up early on a Saturday, either. It wasn't until a quarter to twelve when they began to wake up, reluctant to get out of bed just yet.

They talked quietly over bowls of Cheerios about what they were to do now that Joan knew about Jordan's kleptomania; apparently, Jordan had not only a bottle of Ralph Lauren perfume to return, but also a pink top to the local Suzy Shier, a stapler and a set of screws to the hardware store, and she would have had to return a pack of gum to the convenience store, if she hadn't eaten it already. After recovering from the shock of that information, Joan agreed she would accompany Jordan to each place on Monday afternoon, to return the respective items, and Jordan would have to apologize profusely to the store managers and clerks. Neither knew what reactions to expect from these people, but they could only hope for the best; after all, the worst that could happen was that Jordan could get banned from the stores, the stores could press charges (perhaps Joan would be turned into a sort of scapegoat and get dragged into the mess), and they would both be utterly embarrassed. At least they both would have a clear conscience. Jordan, of course, was hesitant about going through with it at all; to hell with clearing her conscience, she hadn't even taken those things purposely. But she knew she owed it to Joan, because she was trying to help her overcome this problem, so she agreed.

Around two, Joan walked Jordan to her house, since there was not much else to do. The air was dense and the sun was a non-show, auguring rain.

"So tell me about you. I barely know anything about you," Joan was saying as they strolled down a long picturesque street she had never gone by, full of sprawling Victorian houses with well-kept gardens.

Jordan kicked a stone with her boot. "Like what?"

"Like… well, you mentioned a best friend… Dante was his name?"

"Yes, Dante Venútolo," Jordan replied with a grin. "He's my childhood best friend. A great guy. He's an artist, like me, except that his field is photography. His father's a photographer for this weekly magazine, which is like the Italian version of the Time. And I think that, to some extent, Dante eventually will follow on his father's footsteps. He's been travelling a lot with him lately, to these otherworldly places, like Egypt and Siberia. Right now, I don't even know where he is. When I was on my way here, he was setting off to Thailand…" she trailed off and looked longingly at the sky, and then she sighed. "I miss him."

"I can imagine," Joan replied, not knowing what else to say. They remained quiet for a while, until Jordan spoke again.

"You know, Adam actually reminds me a lot of Dante," she began, and Joan nearly winced. Just when she was starting to like Jordan; there was something about listening to Jordan talk about Adam that Joan didn't like. As if Jordan and Adam were long-time-no-see ex boyfriend and girlfriend reminiscing on shared moments and Joan had no business in their little club. Which was completely untrue, but it still made her feel hurt; as if Adam was acting like that on purpose, just to smite her.

"Really?" she said, trying to be nonchalant. Jordan nodded.

"They're both so sweet and soft-spoken. And they're true artists; like it's not so much about the knowledge or the backdrop, but about putting their hearts into it." Joan only nodded, not very sure she knew what Jordan meant. "They're just so genuine. And they both seem to have that gift of looking into people's souls. You think they're off into their own little worlds, but actually they might just be the most perceptive people in the room."

Joan nodded, and was thoughtful for a moment. Yeah, that sounded like Adam, alright. And the fact that Jordan knew this caused that little annoying itch on the back of Joan's mind to start prickling again. Right, so it was back to not liking Jordan, she thought bitterly. This girl had no right to swoop in a steal Adam away just because they clicked right from the beginning. Ok, so it wasn't like Joan _owned_ Adam or had any sort of power over him whatsoever, but if there was a chance there could be a tug-o-war over Adam Rove between Jordan and Joan, then Joan wasn't going to give up so easily.

_What in the world am I talking about? _Joan asked herself, feeling silly. Here she was planning her counterattack, when she couldn't even be sure if there was actually any sort of spark between her supposed boyfriend and the new girl. And she sort of owed it to Jordan to not draw rash conclusions about her anymore. She had set the record straight with her once; now she had to do it again.

"Here's my stop," Jordan said all of a sudden, startling Joan out of her mind rambles. They stood in front of a white Victorian house, barely visible from the curb because of the large cherry blossom tree planted in the front and all the bushes and hedges growing around the property. Definitively someone who lived in a house like this one didn't steal out of necessity.

Jordan pushed the door of the white picket fence open. "Thanks for walking with me. I would invite you in, but my house is a mess. I promise, some other time, when it looks decent, I will have all of you over," she said and began to wave goodbye.

"Wait! Jordan," Joan said quickly before Jordan turned away. "Before you go, be honest with me." Deep breath. _Here goes… _ "Do you like Adam?"

Jordan grinned. "Of course. He's so nice," she replied. "It's so hard to find guys that are genuinely sweet as he is."

"No, I mean… do you like him _like him_… if you know what I mean?" Joan asked again. Jordan blinked in surprise; Joan tried not to look mortified.

"Oh… well, I guess I… don't know. I hadn't even thought about it," Jordan began tentatively. "I guess I could. I mean, he's cute and sweet, but… well, I was so glad that he was talking to me, that _someone_ was talking to me, when I first got to Arcadia High, that I didn't even consider it. I guess not, not really, we didn't hit it off like that, we just… hit it off." She fell silent, and looked at Joan as if waiting to see if her answer was satisfactory.

"I see," Joan replied, keeping a straight face. Well, that was settled. Jordan didn't look at Adam that way; but there was still the matter of how Adam looked at Jordan.

What if he had a crush on her? It was possible, even when Joan assured herself Jordan was not Adam's type of girl (what type of girl was Jordan, exactly, anyway?) However, Joan never knew what to expect from Adam. He had been acting very oddly these past days, indeed, and it brought her no sense of security. Sometimes it felt like he was ready to fall out of love with Joan –if ever he was in love with her, or anything more than merely infatuated—, forget he had ever liked her, and just move on. Joan remembered she had once actually hoped that would happen, so that things between them could become uncomplicated. Now… now she wasn't so sure. Now she just wanted things to go back to the way things were, before the new girl showed up, before she started feeling so insecure of herself…

"Even if I did like him," Jordan continued, interrupting Joan's thoughts again, "I don't think he would feel the same way."

Joan was slightly taken aback. She thought about something nice to say. "What do you mean? He could like you… you're pretty and nice… any guy could like you." She couldn't believe she was actually saying that to Jordan Canavaggio. Surely Jordan was not a girl who would need a boost of ego when it came to guys.

Jordan smiled sheepishly and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "How sweet of you to say that," she said. She glanced behind her shoulder at her house, and then looked back at Joan, leaning casually on the fence door. "But he's obviously caught up in someone else."

Joan froze on the spot. "He… he is?"

"Oh, I thought you'd know. I thought you guys were close."

"We… are…" Joan couldn't register what she had heard. _I knew it_, she suddenly thought miserably. She had been right, to a certain point, about Adam's odd behaviour… maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Jordan was making wrong assumptions. After all, Jordan didn't seem to know that Joan and Adam were sort of an item… to a certain, very abstract, hardly definable extent. If Jordan didn't know about it, Joan wasn't about to tell her; she had to find out what she was talking about, perhaps this is what she and Adam had discussed so privately ever since they met.

Well, maybe you know better than me," Jordan said, not noticing Joan had gone very still and very quiet. "His manner is completely different when he talks about her. It's not so much about what she's like, but about how she makes him feel."

_Great_, Joan thought. _Now what am I supposed to do?_ She started to feel very bad. If there was a chance that Adam had finally moved on from Joan, then she was messed up. Because she just figured out that, besides the trouble with Jordan's shoplifting incident, Adam Rove –and the feeling that she was losing him— had been the real reason why she had been tossing and turning the past few days. She did not like the feeling at all.

"I can't wait to meet her," Jordan said with a grin, oblivious to Joan's misery. "Sounds like she's great."

"Do you know her name?" Joan asked, determined to uncover the mystery once and for all. It was impossible that she could feel any worse than she already did. She just had to know whom Jordan was referring to.

"Oh, well, I don't know her surname, but her name is Jane," Jordan answered nonchalantly. "So… do you know her?"

Joan couldn't answer at first. A very amusing tingling sensation had just exploded inside of her. If she had heard right –and she was pretty sure she had—, then Jordan had just made her day, her week and maybe even her month.

Jordan suddenly looked worriedly at Joan, wondering why she was not speaking. "Joan?"

"Oh," Joan mumbled, coming out of her trance. "Um… I'm Jane."

Jordan blinked a couple of times, thinking she hadn't heard correctly. "But I thought your name was Joan," she pointed out, breaking into a smile, as if she figured Joan was pulling her leg.

"Adam calls me Jane. He's the only one who does. It's like a pet name." Joan was trying not to smile.

"Oh," Jordan said, frowning in comprehension. "Oh…" she repeated, realizing perhaps she shouldn't have said anything at all. "Uh-oh…" she muttered under her breath, suddenly looking fearful. She looked uncomfortably at Joan, then grinned stupidly. "I've got to go," she blurted out and hurried away without giving Joan a chance to say anything else.

"Bu- Jordan, wait!" Joan called after her, reaching out to grab her arm but missing. Jordan yelled goodbye and rushed through the front door, disappearing inside the house.

Joan laughed. She wished she hadn't scared her away. She felt like hugging Jordan and swinging her around and dancing. As she walked the path they had come from –with a slight skip on her step—, she suddenly felt very silly, not only because she was speechless, but because she was giddy with joy and suddenly the sun was shining, the flowers were singing, and nothing could dampen her Disney-music-sequence, Singing-in-the-rain mood right now, not even—

"Hello, Joan."

Joan stopped skipping like an idiot and found God –had to be Him- raking around a flower bed inside the garden of a yellow house nearby. He was a stout white man with scarce hair and a pot-bellied shape beneath a blue jumpsuit.

"Oh, it's you," Joan said, pretending annoyance, when actually she was glad for once to see the Almighty hanging around at hand. God gave her a wry smile.

"I take it things went quite well," He said. Joan knew He meant 'things with Jordan'.

"As if you didn't know," she replied.

"But it doesn't end there. You know that, don't you?"

"You weren't worried at the beginning, were you? Why worry about it now?"

"Oh, no, no worries," God conversed casually as He continued with His work. "But I should get too confident. You might get distracted now that some very valuable information has been revealed to you."

Joan knew what God was referring to. "Well, I've been worried about Adam's attitude toward me, but now that I know I've been wrong about it, I can relax. It's not like I'd get sidetracked because of it. I'm still kind of mad at him because he's ignoring me."

"He's not ignoring you. You take up a lot of his time."

Joan stared dumbfounded at God. He knelt beside the flower bed and studied the blossoms; they were red and had many thin long petals. "Just don't play hard to get; it's very annoying when you do that." He picked one and stood up, then held it out to Joan. Joan looked at it strangely.

"What is it?"

"Your birth flower," God said matter-of-factly. Joan cocked an eyebrow and God rolled His eyes. "Chrysanthemum," He added.

"Oh… thanks."

God nodded and went back to raking. "Now go do your homework. It's your last year; your grades are important. Don't slack off."

Joan stomped her foot. "Ooh, you can be such a… a… an extortionist!" she complained. God looked unabashed.

"Aw, Joan, you know it's for your own good."

Joan wanted to throw a comeback, but none came. She huffed and stormed away.

"Have a nice weekend, miss!" God called after her as she was going. She glared at him over her shoulder and continued. _The nerve!_ she was thinking to herself. _God is manipulative. Who would have guessed? And then He wonders why people fear Him—_

"Jane."

Joan stopped dead in her tracks and looked up. As she reached the end of the street and came out to the main road, she saw Adam walking quickly toward her with a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He grinned when he saw her; she was taken off guard by this encounter. "Adam… h-hi, um… what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Piedmont Street. This is it, isn't it?" he said.

Joan looked overhead and found the green sign that read "Piedmont St.". "Apparently," she answered. "You're not here to see Jordan, are you?" she asked, in spite of everything she had found out in the past fifteen minutes; she was still wary. If Adam liked her so much, why didn't he show it?

Adam looked puzzled. "Jordan lives here?" he asked, and that was good enough for Joan. "I didn't know. Oh, well, no, there are some of my dad's clients who live here. I'm running a few errands for him, got some things to deliver. And I'm running late, so sorry if I don't stay and chat," he explained in his usual soft paced voice, even when he was in a hurry. Joan smiled in spite of herself.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll talk later," she replied with a wave of her hand. Adam suddenly gazed fixedly at Joan's hand. She realized he was looking at the flower God had given her. He pointed at it curiously.

"Chrysanthemum," he said. Joan was surprised he knew the name.

"Yeah, it's, um… well, apparently it's my birth—"

"Your birth flower. Yeah, I know," Adam interrupted her, sounding very serious all of a sudden. Joan frowned in confusion. He cleared his throat. "So ahem… who gave it to you?" he was trying to sound casual. Joan could have burst into a laughing fit. Oh so that was why he was like this!

"Oh, it's from… a friend. Nothing more," she answered nonchalantly, trying to hide her wicked smile. Adam nodded in understanding, even when he didn't look convinced. He cleared his throat again. Joan did too. "Okay, well, I've gotta go, and I guess so do you, so I'll see you later." She wished she could stay there and be with him.

"Yeah, okay," he said after a pause. Joan dedicated him a smile.

"Bye, Adam."

"Bye, Jane."

Joan started walking away, but when she crossed the street and reached the opposite sidewalk, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Just then she realized Adam was looking over his shoulder too; their eyes met for a second, and then they both looked away and went on. Joan felt her cheeks flush, and she guessed Adam was blushing, too. But what the hell; she was too content to care. Looking back again, she saw Adam walk past God still raking around the flower bed of the yellow house. God watched Adam walk by, then He caught Joan's eye and grinned. Joan grinned back and waved.

Well, she had had a very amusing week, and an even more amusing one ahead of her. Maybe this was the omen for the rest of the year that she had been waiting for. Maybe this was, after all, only the beginning of one very interesting year.

------------------------------

Alexz: Alright, for those who don't know it, Erika Weston is based on our friend Patricia (who is really Aussie and really demented, by the way), Dante, whom you will meet in future chapters, is based partly on Mike himself and partly on our friend Jake (he's a modern day Harry Potter, I'm telling you. Even looks like him.) And Jordan or Giordana is based on –what a shock!— me. Now I'm not saying I'm super gorgeous or super popular (and I'm definitively not a kleptomaniac), but I'm quite pretty, aren't I?

Mike: Lovely.

Alexz: And I've got my way with people.

Mike: You're a charming little snob.

Alexz: Unfortunately, I _am_ a snob.

Mike: You say it like it's a bad thing.

Alexz: And you say it like it's not, because you are a snob too.

Mike: You're worse than me. And that's it; I've had the last word.

More coming soon. Read and review, please. Grazie, Fanfiction Net! Good night!

[ In the darkness ]


	5. Mysterium Tremendum

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL THE DADDIES, GRANDADDIES, GREAT GRANDADDIES AND SO ON ALL OVER THE WORLD!!! Here in Italy we actually celebrate Father's day on March 19th, but oh well. I know too many daddies who celebrate it on June, so let's congratulate them. I have a few too many cards to send. Zoit.

Dear Mike just pointed out to me that on Chapter Three I wrote that there are "six thousand million pairs of eyes in the world" (or something like that), when actually the world population is an approximate of 6 BILLION (Oh dear God, what a crowded little planet). And I know what the population numbers are, really, because I read too many articles about the future of the world's ecosystem and Generation Y, and I apologize for that mistake, won't happen again, must have been finger cramps from all the typing. Zoit.

Thanks to the reviewers. I'm glad you like the story so far. (To Principessa Squish Avina: I looove Harry Potter too! You should meet my friend Jake. He IS the ultimate Harry!! British, thin, black hair, green eyes, and he looks so the part when he wears his thick black-framed reading glasses… aah, I miss him. Sniff). To alexandri: well, if there IS such a thing as a quarter-life crisis then I'm screwed. It's good to know I'm not alone, tho. Seth says maybe Avril Lavigne will have one too. And that's supposed to cheer me up? Zoit.

_And the word of the day is:_ ZOIT.

This chapter is brought to you by Franz Ferdinand's "Take me out", Blink 182's "Down", Matchbox 20's "Unwell", and a very large glass of 7UP.

Alexz: I'm back on coffee.

Mike: Yes, I know, you're back to your odd, ecstatic, normal self.

Alexz: Zoit.

Mike: Stop it.

Alexz: Zoit.

------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Five – Mysterium Tremendum

------------------------

For a typical boring last period on a drowsy Tuesday afternoon, Arcadia High's senior students were unusually awake.

"Is that thing real?"

"Talk about full-scale class alert."

"I can't believe he's really doing this."

Twenty-two pairs of dinner-plate-sized eyes were fixed on the teacher. The teacher looked hesitant for a moment, but then, readjusting his rubber gloves, he opened the large jar sitting on the desk in front of him. Joan compared this moment to an eclipse; you know you shouldn't look straight at it, and yet you can't help but stare. Neither she nor any of the other students could bring themselves to look away, as the teacher reached into the jar and pulled out a brain. _A real human brain._

The class didn't go "ooh" as expected. They were holding their breath.

Jordan froze in her chair. "If he hands it to me, I will die. Just die!"

"What do brains have to do with English Literature, anyway?"

"Adam, we're in physics," Joan said.

"Oh." Adam looked dumbfounded.

The teacher did indeed hand the brain to all the students; including Jordan. She did not die.

"Noodles, anyone?" Erika asked teasingly as the bell rang and the students filed out of the classroom. She looked healthier than most of them, even after witnessing, along with the rest, Tania Cooper unable to hold her lunch down as the three-pound formaldehyde-smelling mass passed through her gloved hands.

"Well, that Kodak moment back there certainly brightened my day," Grace muttered sarcastically, though she was still a little green. "I would like to know what the point of it was."

"I don't. I just want to forget that ever happened, wash my hands and move on with my life," Joan declared, the lingering sensation of the slick surface of the brain still on her fingers. "I hope I never have to see one of those as close as that ever again."

"Yoo-hoo, miss, could you help me with something?" a drawly-voiced woman wearing a lab coat was standing nearby, and she waved at Joan as she walked by. Joan looked strangely at her, then at her friends. Was she talking to her?

"Yes, you. C'mere. I need your help," the woman waved her over vigorously. Joan rolled her eyes, realizing who it was. _Well, this is embarrassing_, she thought.

"I'll see you guys later, ok?" she said, turning to her friends.

"We're still set to work on that assignment at your place later, right?" Jordan asked. Joan nodded and left them to see what this lady wanted.

"You are sooo discreet, I'm in shock," she glared. God only smirked and handed Joan a very large jar with something floating inside of it. "Hold this," She said.

Joan nearly barfed. "I haven't even recovered from a moment ago, my stomach can only handle so much!"

"It's only a brain," God said impatiently. Joan turned vivid green as she helplessly looked at the organ in her hands.

"It's disgusting."

"And to think that you have one between your ears." God shook Her head, then took the jar back and put it in a bag. "Gotta take this baby back."

Joan's eyes widened. "Wait. You're the one who brought that brain school?" She looked puzzled. "Where did you get it?"

"The university's laboratories, in the neurology department," God replied matter-of-factly. "Duh."

Joan nodded slowly. "Ok."

"It's one of my best inventions, don't you think?" There was an air of pride to God's smile. "The human mind is one of the greatest mysteries to humans themselves. One cubic centimetre of brain stores ten billion bits of information and it processes five thousand bits a second, and it somehow evolved over a few million years from a molten ball of rock, which will someday fall into the sun and be no more. And the questions humankind is trying to answer: Why? How?"

Joan frowned. "Snore. What do you want?" God's smile didn't falter.

"I want you to help your mom with something."

Joan wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead, but looked truly relieved. "Oh, phew! For a moment there I thought you would ask me to do something brain-related."

"Yes, I suppose helping your mom requires a little less brain effort from you."

"I know that's your lovely snippy self speaking, but right now I'm so stupefied by your boring brain speech that I can't think of a comeback," Joan narrowed her eyes fiercely. "Meanwhile, I'm sure you remember what happened the last time I tried to help my mom, or should I refresh your memory?"

Joan obviously meant the washing machine incident. God smile knowingly. "I'm sure even you can accomplish this one without giving yourself another body injury."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just my snippy self speaking again, so let's just ignore it," God blurted out quickly, apparently getting flustered. "There's a PTA meeting this afternoon. And it's an important one: your mother is now the mother of a graduating student, and she's also a member of the teaching staff. Do something nice for her, and cook something she can bring to the meeting."

Joan thought up a whole bunch of comebacks, but only voiced one. And if she had been dealing with someone else it might just have done it.

"I don't cook."

She knew this was not one of those occasions.

"You have before," God replied matter-of-factly. Joan waved it off.

"Lucky strike."

God rolled Her eyes. "How much simple can it be? There is a bunch of cookbooks in your house. You pick one, you choose a recipe and you do it."

"Okay, well…" Joan tried to think fast. "I already told Adam and the others to come over to my house to do the English lit assignment. I don't have time to cook."

"Why do you try to excuse yourself out of a simple task?" God was really flustered now. She was gesturing frantically, waving around dangerously the bag containing the jar with the brain. "You haven't even tried. It's not as if it would take you all day. Here, I'll make it simpler: go to the store on your way home and pick up some bleu cheese. Then find something to do with it."

"Ooh, a hint. How compelling." Before she could add another sarcastic comment, God shouldered the bag and turned on Her heel.

"Have a good day."

------------------------

It wasn't easy getting a head start on this task. As soon as she stepped out of the school building, Joan caught sight of Adam and Jordan sitting under a tree, deep in conversation. Instinctively, her head warmed up, and there was some odd activity in her gut. The initial thought was to sneak over, hide behind the tree and eavesdrop. But she fought the urge. After that weekend's revelation courtesy of Jordan herself, Joan had brought herself to the conclusion that what went on between Adam and Jordan was completely innocent. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous when she saw them in that chummy state –which was more often that she could bear--.

After forcing herself to walk away, she dragged herself into the nearest grocery store on her way home, and hoped she wouldn't run into anyone she knew. Making a beeline for the dairy goods, she scowled at the prices on all the bleu cheese and wondered why there were so many to choose from, especially after she smelled it._ My stomach will not live through this day,_ she thought miserably as she remembered that, once she cooked something with the cheese, she would have to taste it.

"What's in the bag?" Luke asked when his sister entered the house some fifteen minutes later. Joan, annoyed as she already was, automatically glared at him.

"I was only asking… sheesh," he added, holding his hands up in defence. Joan walked past him, dropping her schoolbag on the way.

"I will be in the kitchen," she announced solemnly, carrying the bag with the bleu cheese.

"Doing what?"

"Gee, I don't know, cooking?"

"You don't cook." The look he got for that response said it all. Sensing her bad mood, Luke told himself to walk away before Joan decided to hurl at him whatever was in the bag. "Right, I'll be in my room. Mom should be home any second. Don't blow up the stove." And he sprinted up the stairs.

There were two main reasons why Joan didn't cook. One: she hated following orders when they were dictated by a book (which was the same reason why she hated solving math book problems, too). The second one would be Helen. Every time Joan decided to cook, often without a cookbook because she hated them, she made a mess. Helen was very irascible about the cleanness of her kitchen. And she was very irascible about Joan making the mess and then leaving Helen alone to clean it up. It seemed today would be no exception.

Helen Girardi walked tentatively into the kitchen, already sensing someone –Joan, most likely, – was destroying it. She stood in the threshold and overviewed the area just as Joan was shoving the Pyrex dish of breaded bleu cheese sticks into the preheated oven. Joan was sweaty, smeared and shabby, and she was still a little green around the face, but she hobbled over to the nearest chair, and plopped down wearing a tired but satisfied smile. She saw Helen there and acknowledged her with a wave.

Momentarily ignoring (with all the will she could summon) the heap of dirty dishes piled inside and around the sink, the smeared utensils scattered around the counters, and the crumbs of bread carpeting the floor, Helen looked curiously at Joan and wondered if she dared ask.

"What are you doing?" she ventured. Joan grinned.

"Cooking."

"Cooking?"

"For your PTA meeting."

"Cooking what?"

"Actually, more like baking."

"Baking what?"

"It's a surprise."

Helen made a face.

"What is that?" Joan responded with a frown. "Why are you making that face?"

"What face?"

"The face of a person who obviously does not appreciate surprises when someone is preparing one with such care and love," Joan said dramatically. Helen blinked in surprise.

"You got that all from my face?"

"She does not deny it," Joan said under her breath.

"You know, it's really odd when you talk to yourself like that."

"And she tries to change the subject."

"Honey, stop," Helen held her hands up and smirked. "I do appreciate what you're doing. This face is shock, actually. I wasn't even thinking of making anything for the meeting." Joan pointed at herself.

"Well, that's what you have me for."

"But you don't cook."

"I'm not cooking. I'm baking."

"Ok, what are you baking?"

"I told you, it's a surprise," Joan said exasperatedly.

"Ok…" Helen said slowly. "No more questions. Let's see… are you planning on starting to clean this up anytime soon?"

It was Joan's turn to make a face. Helen rolled her eyes knowingly. "Joan, you made the mess, you have to clean it up. How many times are we going to argue about something so stupid?"

"Mom, please, it would take me forever to clean up, you know how lousy I am," Joan countered. "Besides, I already did this little favour for you; can't you do one for me?"

"I don't think it's a favour if I don't ask you to do it."

"Well, someone did, and that makes it a favour," Joan muttered.

"What? Who asked you?" Helen asked puzzled.

"No one, forget it," Joan said dismissively. "The thing is, mom, look at me. I have friends coming over to work and I'm a mess," she gestured at her dirty clothes and messy hair. "I need a shower, urgent."

"I have a PTA meeting."

"But you have time. I don't," Joan continued. She pouted her lips and batted her eyelashes. "Plweeeeze…" she cooed.

Helen narrowed her eyes, but after a moment of staring at Joan's annoyingly cute puppy-dog look, she sighed deeply and shrugged. "This is the last time," she said in a low voice that was supposed to be severe, but Joan was too busy jumping up and down in victory to be intimidated. She gave her mom a quick kiss on the cheek and sprinted upstairs. "Thanks! I'll come back to check on the surprise!" Helen rolled her eyes again and turned to the mess. She grabbed a serving spoon that was smeared with something creamy and she sniffed. "Bleu cheese?" she muttered and felt very confused.

------------------------

Joan pulled her hair into a ponytail and looked at the clock. Past four thirty. Adam and the girls would arrive any second and she still wasn't dressed. She threw her wet towel away, put on underwear and socks and started pulling out clothes trying to figure out what she was going to wear. She was zipping on a pair of dark denim jeans when a faint burning smell drifted in through the door. Then the smoke detector started beeping.

"Uh-oh."

"JOAN!"

Joan cringed and grabbed the nearest top, a brown sweater, and pulled it on as she ran downstairs, nearly tripping over her own feet. She had completely forgotten about the cheese sticks in the oven. More than thirty minutes had gone by and now they were burning. When she burst into the kitchen, there was a thick cloud of greyish smoke and she started coughing. Apparently, Helen was already there, even if Joan couldn't see her in the smoke. Her mother had managed to pull the Pyrex out of the oven and dropped it on the floor. The cheese sticks had literally caught fire. Joan was in shock and she couldn't do much but stare as Helen reached for the fire extinguisher and put the flames out. More smoke issued from the smashed Pyrex.

Helen and Joan began walking around, opening windows and doors, coughing like crazy, their eyes watering. Luke came walking downstairs while seeming very focused on the book in his hands, and he pulled the neck of his sweater up to his nose when he entered the cloud of smoke condensed in the bottom floor. He peered into the kitchen and chuckled. Joan wasn't as amused. She glared at him. "Oh, little brother, thank God you're safe," she said sarcastically.

He pretended not to listen. "What is that smell?" he asked, his voice muffled by his sweater.

Helen was waving smoke away from her face. "I guess that's how cough burnt bleu cheese smells."

Joan wrinkled her nose. Sure enough, it had stopped smelling so much of burnt Pyrex and now the air stank distinctively of something rancid and roasted. Her eyes watered again.

Helen switched the alarm off and they moved to the living room, where it still smelled of rancid-burnt cheese, but the smoke wasn't as dense.

"And how, if I may ask, did this happen?" Luke asked. Joan bit her lip, feeling her mother's eyes suddenly boring into her. She tugged at the hem of her brown sweater.

"I… may have… forgotten to… check the timer," she responded very slowly, not meeting her mother's stern gaze.

They heard a siren approaching, and Helen and Joan groaned. Luke pulled his sweater off his nose; he was grinning mischievously.

"Did you call them?!" Joan demanded of him.

"Joan, when the smoke detectors go off, they come on their own!" Helen told her, her voice a little loud. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "I can't deal with this right now, I have a meeting to attend!"

Joan continued to bite her lip miserably as she watched her mother run out to meet the firefighters outside and talk to them. Luke stood behind Joan, half-grinning, half staring in awe at the shiny red fire truck parked on the curb of his house. It was his seventh birthday all over again: he had gotten the toy fire truck he had wanted, but then a real one had come visit them, after Joan had managed to set the tablecloth on fire while playing with matches and the candles of Luke's cake. But it hadn't been so bad –for Luke—; he got the chance to ride the real truck, the toy one forgotten somewhere in the garden.

"Well, this was all very amusing," he said, coming out of his memories. "Now, if there should be no more interruptions, I will go back upstairs and continue my studying."

Joan glared at him. "You know, if the house had caught on fire, nobody would have gone looking for you. What kind of person are you to react so idiotically to an emergency situation?"

"For your information, when you mentioned earlier that you were cooking, I kind of figured out this could happen. That is why I wasn't worried when the detectors went off. I knew it was you." He winked and left. Joan curled her fingers at his back, as if she were ready to leap onto him and strangle him.

In spite of having rectified the situation, Helen allowed one fireman to come into the house and check the damages. The man seemed to be trying really hard not to laugh as he looked around the kitchen. He pinched his nose shut as he surveyed the broken Pyrex on the floor.

"What were you cooking, young lady?" he asked with a sly smile. Joan pursed her lips; apparently, her mother had explained _everything_ to the firefighters.

"Bleu cheese sticks," she answered, blushing slightly. The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. He glanced behind his back at Helen, who was busy, fetching the broom and mop from the closet in the corner. He looked back at Joan and lowered his voice.

"Don't sweat it, Joan. These things happen. At least you tried, right?"

Joan's eyes were very wide now, even if they were still stinging from the smoke. _Oh, the audacity_, she thought, and her wide eyes narrowed into a glare as God winked at her. She tried to say something, but she couldn't find any words.

"You should be more attentive of the time when you're cooking, shouldn't you? These things can sometimes get out of control," God continued, speaking normally again, as Helen brought the broom over and handed it to Joan rather roughly.

"Well, thank you very much for your time, and we're very sorry for this false alarm," Helen apologized. She threw a look in Joan's direction. "And Joan is very sorry she wasted your time." Joan suddenly looked very hurt.

Firefighter God took off his helmet. "No worries, ma'am. Always ready to serve, even if it is a false alarm. Have a nice day," He said, giving Joan a sympathetic smile, then He put His helmet back on and headed for the front door. Joan ignored the broken Pyrex she was supposed to sweep, and ignored her mother for a moment, who seemed to be ready to launch into a speech, and ran after Him.

"Wait, what was the point, then?" she shouted at Him from the doorway. He was already climbing onto the truck.

"Stay out of trouble, young lady!" He shouted back with a grin and signalled to His mates that it was time to leave. Joan was beginning to shake with anger and frustration. This was not turning out to be a good day _at all_, and it still wasn't over.

Adam, Grace, Jordan and Erika were coming down the sidewalk, and they stopped short of the Girardi's mailbox as they watched in puzzled awe as the firefighters leapt onto the truck and drove away. Joan saw them and quickly shut the door behind her, so that they didn't see the smoke. Or rather, smell it.

"Hey, guys," she called, smiling as if nothing had happened. The four teenagers walked up to the porch, still looking confused.

"Were those firemen here in your house?" Adam asked slowly. Joan would have pretended she didn't know what he meant, but she still couldn't lead him into the house. It stank too badly. She sighed.

"Ok, emergency change of plans. Could we find another place to work? My house is, um, quite uninhabitable right now."

Grace's mouth stretched into a devious grin. "What did you do?"

Joan glared. "I cannot be so selfish as to take the whole blame for the matter."

"Sounds bad," Jordan said.

"What? Did you, like, blow an improvised skylight on your living room roof or something?" Erika joked. From Joan's pained look, she guessed it wasn't funny at all.

"Can we just go somewhere else to work?" Joan blurted out tiredly. The other four looked at each other.

"My house is a mess," Adam said.

"My family is a mess," Erika said.

"My house is out of the question, whatever its current state," Grace said.

"Let's go to my house. It's finally decent, and I was planning on having you over one of these days, anyway," Jordan offered. Joan was relieved there was a solution to the dilemma. And they weren't asking too many questions.

"Ok, just wait here. I'll go get my stuff," she said, turning to the door.

"No, this I gotta see," Grace said, motioning to follow her.

"It's not something you can see."

"Oh," Grace said, her smirk disappearing. "Ok, maybe I'll wait here."

Joan turned the knob of the door, took a very deep breath –the others looked at her strangely—, and went in. She ran upstairs, barely hearing her mother calling her frantically. She changed her sweater for one that didn't reek of burnt cheese, and pulled on a white three-quarter sleeved top, grabbed her schoolbag, put on her black boots and brushed her hair. She went downstairs again, ready to leave, when Helen cut her off.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Mom, I have to go do schoolwork. Remember Adam and Grace and the other two were coming over? Well, they're waiting outside for me because now we're going to Jordan's house to work, since my house stinks and we can't work in a place that stinks," Joan explained very fast. Helen crossed her arms over her chest.

"And you're going to leave me to do all the cleaning up?"

"You know you do a way better job than me," Joan said quickly.

"Joan Agnes Girardi, this is your mess, you clean it up!" Helen was nearly shouting, but Joan rounded her and made for the door.

"Mom, I have to work! They're waiting for me!"

"I have a PTA meeting! I'm going to be late!"

"Sorry, mom," Joan exclaimed, and she stepped out and shut the door behind her before her mother could say anything else. "Sheesh," she muttered under her breath. The others were sitting on the steps, waiting. "Alright, let's go," she said, and they stood up and walked down the path and onto the sidewalk.

"Seriously, Girardi, what did you do?"

"Grace, let it go."

------------------------

I'm sorry I took so long to post this, but I've been kind of busy with work, classes, and majorly distracted by hot guys running around in shorts (I'm speaking of course, of the UEFA EURO CUP 2004 PORTUGAL, YEAH BABY!! VIVA ITALIA!! WOO-HOO!! And yes, I'm majorly pissed by the fact that they only have two points. Oh, but they'll win next game. Bulgaria's got noooo chance. You'll see.) Ahem.

Thanks again to the reviewers (Anne, your character is coming, don't worry, and please don't threaten me), and please, bear with me, I know I've been slacking off. No more, I promise. Thanks to Mike, my beta reader, for his good work and for keeping in touch. I love you.

Alexz: Zoit.

Mike: Cut it out.

Alexz: Zoit.

Mike: I mean it.

Alexz: Zoit.

[ In the darkness ]


	6. The Devil on the wall

Wow, took me long enough. I apologize, seriously, for the delay. It's been a mess. I've been caught up with school, too many meetings at work, and Seth's been spoiling me. I went back to Scotland with him for a while (I love Scotland) and then we went on a sort of inside tourism through Italy (actually we were visiting my family). I come back home and my computer blows up. I have to buy a new one and start all over again. Including with this chapter. Then Seth, miraculously, recovers all the stuff from the old computer, and that was that. Really frustrating. If only I had done a backup from the very beginning… I am a moron.

Did I mention I watched the season finale? I was going nuts, I couldn't wait for it to come out over here, so I downloaded it! It was so goooood. Can't wait for next season.

This chapter's soundtrack: "Clarity" by John Mayer, "La valse d'Amélie" by Yann Tiersen (from the Amélie score), "Mary" by Supergrass, and "You're the only one" by Maria Mena.

And by the way, if you're wondering about any underlined terms, the definitions or explanations you will find at the end of this chapter in respective order.

------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Six – The Devil on the Wall

------------------------

All the way to Jordan's house, Joan had to endure Erika and Grace arguing about something very, very stupid, Jordan talking about how much she missed her hometown, and Adam being his usual silent self. When they got on Piedmont Street, Joan instinctively took a quick glance around the garden of the yellow house, where the past weekend God had passed as a gardener. Of course, no one was there.

Jordan pushed through the door of the fence surrounding the property, leading her mates into the well-kept garden of her house. Joan looked around in awe, momentarily forgetting the recent events she was still grumbling about. It was as if they had stepped into the Secret Garden, except that it had been compressed into some 1400 square feet.

"Your house is big," Erika exclaimed, looking up at the edification. The house was a light yellow three-story Victorian-style house.

"Too big," Jordan said with a shake of her head. "Requires too much maintenance, and we can't afford help. We have a cleaning lady, but she only comes twice a week."

"Then how come you bought this place?" Adam asked.

"It was a present from my grandparents. They sold the family villa in Toscana for a really good price, so they bought this place for us. They said we had to have a _roomy_ place for when they come visit."

"_Roomy_ is an understatement," Erika said.

"I wish _my_ grandparents gave me presents like this," Joan said with a chuckle. They walked onto the front porch and Jordan pulled out her key to open the stained glass-paneled door. Once inside, they took their coats off and hung them on the coat hanger. Joan looked around the foyer. The decoration was simple but according to the style of the house, and she noticed mostly the paintings hanging from the walls, and many valuable-looking objects. She got a very odd feeling, like she was in a museum, and she had to be very careful walking around.

Piano music floated from some other room in the house. Jordan slid open the double doors on the right and led them in. It was a large study room, with the opposite wall covered by shelves of books and more valuable objects, comfy armchairs, a computer area, and a glossy black grand piano near the tall windows. From one wall hung an abstract painting that Joan recalled from one of her mother's art books. _Kandinsky_, she thought, still not seeing what the big deal about those multi-colored circles was.

A girl was sitting at the piano, eyes closed, obviously very focused as she played a beautiful piece that sounded familiar, but Joan couldn't quite tell where she'd heard it before. Jordan approached the piano and looked at the girl.

"Ciao, Giulia," she said.

The girl's eyes snapped open, and she stopped playing and looked at them. Joan and the others nearly gasped. She was identical to Jordan in every possible way, with the sole exception that her dark blond hair was straight. She surveyed the group with her green eyes.

"Buona sera. You interrupted me," she replied in an even tone.

"Sorry," Jordan said with a grin.

"You do not interrupt me when I am inspired."

Jordan cocked an eyebrow. "You were playing that theme from Amélie."

Giulia's steely eyes narrowed. "Are you done?" she asked with a polite coldness.

"Dove sta mamma?" Jordan asked.

"Galleria di arte," replied Giulia, and before Jordan could say anything else, she launched into Mozart's _The marriage of Figaro_, pounding the keys in a frenzy, which clearly told them "go away". Jordan, however, wasn't done nagging her.

"My friends: Grace, Adam, Joan and Erika," she said over the music, pointing at each of them. "Guys, la mia sorella, Giulia."

"La what?!" Erika raised her voice over the music, too.

"My sister!" Jordan answered as loud.

"Oh! Nice to meet you!"

"Affascinato," Giulia replied, still playing. Jordan finally rolled her eyes and beckoned her friends to follow her up the stairs.

"You guys aren't twins, are you?" Adam asked as they climbed the staircase to the second floor, the music getting farther. Joan thought it was pretty obvious they weren't. Jordan made a face, as if scared by the very thought of it.

"No. Giulia is two and a half years older," she replied. "She's in the music conservatory. She's a pianist."

"No shit," Erika said in mock shock.

"I don't know much about music, so I can't really tell. Is she good?" Grace asked.

"Well, she's no Bach, but she's great. Her mentor says she's the most likely to get a scholarship for one of the big orchestras."

"Joan plays the piano, too."

Joan froze on the spot and turned to look at Adam. He had something of an omniscient smile on his face, and Joan tried to smile back politely. "It's a hobby, Adam. I'm not a pro," she answered through gritted teeth. Jordan gave her an appraising look and opened the door to their right.

Upon entrance to Jordan's room, the first impression was that it was far from a stereotypical teenage girl's room. The decoration was calculated and sober, quite in accordance to the rest of the house, but fresher and brighter and a bit girlier, what with the lavish light yellow on the walls, the burgundy accents and the eclectic mix of artwork. Part of one wall was a mural of framed black and white photographs, beneath which was a desk cluttered with books and sketchpads and several pencil boxes. There was a comfy-looking armchair near the window, cluttered with burgundy cushions, and a large travel trunk that doubled as a table. Sitting on a space above the closet were three foam mannequin heads wearing various jester hats, Mardi gras masks and colorful feather boas, and next to the closet, on the corner, was a full-length stand mirror.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to my Arcadian sanctuary," Jordan said, and proceeded to throw her bag onto the bed, where it landed on a pile of clothes. The double bed had a wide and tall headboard and a bedspread a darker shade of yellow to match the curtains and carpeting.

The others put their bags on the floor near the door and stared around. If ever Joan thought her room was eclectic, it was nothing compared to Jordan's. Apart from the black and white pictures, there was an original-sized copy of the Mona Lisa hanging over the headboard. The closet doors were covered in posters of all sorts, including Foo Fighters, Sum 41, Coldplay, Grand Tomahawk**** and some Italian bands she didn't know, and a large team picture of the Juventus, plus a fairly big poster of one good-looking player called Del Piero. On top of a stout bookcase sat a wrought-wire figure that looked like a leafless tree, and on the wall beside it hung a Pop art-looking painting of (Joan did a double-take) a devil, and a round silver disc about the size of a dinner plate, which turned out to be an Aztec calendar.

"Okay, make yourselves comfortable," Jordan announced.

"Sure thing," Adam said, and promptly plopped down onto the armchair, knocking off a bunch of burgundy cushions. "Oh, sorry," he said, but didn't move to pick them up.

Jordan leapt onto her bed, knocking off some cushions herself. There were so many. Joan came to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Hey, you play the violin!" Adam said, pointing to a violin case sitting on the trunk. Jordan shrugged and smiled humbly.

"Well, I'm no , that's for certain."

"Wow, this is one artistic family. What does your mom do?"

"She's a curator. Art is her specialty. That's where my affinity comes from, I suppose," Jordan replied. "And that's where the decoration of this house comes from, too."

"Wow, I'm gonna have to talk to your mom," Adam commented. Jordan grinned.

"I've told her about you. And your work, of course. She says she has got to see it, because it sounds awesome."

Adam blushed slightly. Joan frowned at him. She turned her attention away from him and stared in fascination at the Mona Lisa.

"That," Jordan began, noticing Joan was looking at it, "was a present from Dante. I don't know why, he calls me La Gioconda. Last time we were at the Louvre was the day before we went our separate ways, and he bought it for me."

"I hope he doesn't call you that because he thinks you look like her," Grace commented. Jordan shook her head vigorously, as if not even wanting to think about it.

"That would be mean; the Mona Lisa is quite ugly, don't you think?" Erika put in, examining her reflection in the mirror.

"No, don't say 'ugly'. Say… 'rare beauty'," Adam suggested. Erika and Grace smirked in his direction. "Okay, Rove," they said almost in unison. Adam pouted.

"Who painted that?" Joan asked. Jordan looked at her a bit strangely.

"Um, I think his name is Leonardo da Vinci."

Joan realized she had still been staring at the Mona Lisa when she made the question. "Actually, I was asking about that devil," she corrected, pointing at the painting beside the bookcase.

"Oh. I did," Jordan replied with a proud grin.

"Mystic," Adam said, taking a closer look. Joan went to look at the photographs. They were all amazing. She was able to recognize Jordan in some of them.

"Did you take these?" she asked. Jordan stood beside her and shook her head.

"All these are Dante's work."

"How come you have them?" Grace asked. Jordan didn't reply. Joan and Grace looked at each other awkwardly.

"Oh Dio, where are my manners?" Jordan said suddenly, shaking her head slightly. "Would any of you like anything to drink? I have Pepsi, 7up, Fanta, Yoo-hoo, whole milk, half-and-half, non-fat, non dairy, raspberry juice, orange juice, tomato juice, coffee, mocha latte, cappuccino, espresso, black tea, herbal tea, tap water, bottled water," she paused to take a breath, "you name it, we have it. Just use your imagination."

"O…k…" Grace said, pretending to be dizzy. "So not to complicate you, I'd like a Pepsi."

"Same here," Erika said. Adam and Joan nodded in agreement.

"Wow, you guys have no imagination," Jordan teased. "How about something to eat? We've got pretzels, tortilla chips, dips, crackers, cookies—"

"Ok, Jordan! You bought the whole supermarket. We get it. Pepsis will be just fine, thank you," Erika interrupted. Jordan pretended to be hurt.

"And here I am, trying to be a good host."

"And we appreciate it, but don't overdo it. Need any help?" Erika asked. Jordan grinned and said no. "I'll be right back," she announced, then exited the room.

Joan continued to stare in fascination at each picture individually. They were good, and remarkably beautiful. Joan didn't know much about artistic photography (or any other sort, for that matter), but she knew what she liked. And she had always thought black and white photography was cool; it seemed more poetic than color photography. Joan found herself thinking back to the day she had seen God in the park, with His fedora hat and large format camera. The things He had said about photography, she had only just figured out what He'd meant, about the eye of the beholder. Joan realized, with a tinge of pride, that maybe she was finally beginning to understand art.

"Wonder who that is," Adam said. He was looking at a framed picture sitting on Jordan's nightstand. It featured Jordan herself and a dark-skinned boy with short dreadlocks, hugging and smiling. Joan wondered who it was, too, but she was not going to ask; she had bad past experiences butting into other people's lives. The guy could turn out to be a dear friend who died, and Joan could be responsible for upsetting Jordan by reminding her of him.

_It's possible,_ Joan thought. _I am _that_ unlucky._

"Well, we should get down to business. We don't want to have zero work done, should some unforeseen commitment arise later," she said, trying to sound commanding, but unable to hide the boredom in her voice.

"Like what? Piano lessons?" Grace joked. Joan didn't even have the energy to think up a comeback. She went to Jordan's desk to get a pen, and caught sight of two printed sheets of paper sitting there, on top of a teetering tower of books. One was written in Italian, so she couldn't understand it. The other one was in English; it looked like an essay. The title read "The Lost Man." Out of impulse, Joan began to read the contents.

"Ahem," someone cleared her throat. Joan froze and turned on her heel. Jordan stood there. She hadn't even heard her come back into the room.

"That's private, Joan," the girl said in almost a whisper. Her expression was serious, but she didn't look mad. Nevertheless, Joan felt bad for being nosy.

"Sorry," she muttered, avoiding her eyes. Jordan smirked and said it was fine. The others didn't even notice what was going on. They were busy arranging Jordan's numerous cushions into makeshift seats around the tray of drinks and potato chips Jordan had brought in. The girls joined them and they got to work. But Joan couldn't help thinking about what she had read.

------------------------

A little over an hour later, they were all getting ready to leave. They had surprisingly gotten all the work done, and even been able to type most of it in the computer. But closing in on six o'clock, they began gathering up their stuff. Jordan's mom was at the PTA meeting, so there was no dinner in the house, and since no one had any money to order takeout, they had to go to their respective homes now if they wanted to catch supper. Joan groaned, assuming there was no food in her own house, either, since Helen was at the PTA as well, and everyone had bolted the house after the big blue cheese bomb.

"Well, I'll finish typing up the assignment and bring it tomorrow to school," Jordan was saying as everyone got their coats and made for the front door.

"Alright. I gotta go see Troy," Erika said stepping outside.

"Your 'undercover' boyfriend?" Grace asked with a smirk.

"No, the movie," Erika replied. "Gotta go catch it before they stop playing it in theatres."

Grace was dumbfounded. "Oh."

"But Troy's coming with me. Oh, I see the irony now!" Erika exclaimed rather comically. The others smiled in amusement.

"Ciao, then. See you tomorrow," Jordan added, waving as they walked down the path and crossed the garden. Joan reached the fence and pushed the door open, letting Grace and Erika through first, as she looked back to have Adam catch up with her. He was still standing with Jordan on the porch, and they were whispering. Involuntarily, Joan twitched. Jordan reached for something in her pocket and discreetly handed it to Adam. It looked like a folded piece of paper.

"You coming, Girardi?" Grace asked.

Joan unclenched her jaw momentarily.

"Be there in a second." Her eyes were glued on the scene taking place on the front porch of the Canavaggio residence. For what seemed like too many minutes, Jordan and Adam looked at each other, smiling. Then he finally turned and waved goodbye over his shoulder. Jordan lingered for a moment, then went back inside the house.

"I'm starving," was the first thing Adam said as soon as he reached Joan on the curb. Joan stared at him, disbelieving of what just happened. What _had_ just happened?

"I need food. I'm going home," Grace said.

"Same here," Erika agreed, and the group set off down Piedmont Street. They chattered sporadically until they reached the main road, where they unceremoniously said their goodbyes and went separate ways, each heading to their own home. Joan hadn't even walked ten feet, when a black Mercedes nearly rammed her as she was about to cross the street.

"Hey!" she yelled automatically, gesturing furiously at the driver. "I'm walking here!"

As expected, the driver jumped out of the car. It was more like a limousine chauffer, outfitted with suit, kepi and all. He looked worried, mumbling an apology as he approached her, but stopped as the back door of the car popped open. A boy about a year older than her stepped out, straightening to a height of nearly six feet, wearing a catholic school uniform and a snobbish look on his face.

"No worries, Tom. I'll handle this," the boy said, patting the chauffer on the back. Tom, the chauffer, turned on his heel and promptly went back into the car.

Joan glared daggers at the boy. "Your driver's nearly run over me."

The boy shook his head. "Didn't your mother teach you to look both ways before crossing a street?" he responded smugly, a slight accent to his voice.

Joan's nostrils flared slightly. "Are you calling me dumb?"

"I'm saying that, after she's been telling you since you were six, you should know it very well by now. Mother knows best, right, Joan?"

Before Joan could recover from the shock, God was leaning on the hood of the car casually. "Good thing Tom's still got sharp reflexes. Now, where were you going exactly?"

"Gee, I don't know. Home?" Joan retorted, getting her voice back, and crossed her arms firmly, perhaps to keep herself from punching Him.

"In that state? No wonder you nearly got run over."

Joan took a deep breath. This was turning into the worst day. "What do you mean 'in that state'? What state am I in?"

God shrugged. "You tell me," He stated simply. Joan snorted. "Oh, ok. Because _you_ don't know," she replied cynically.

"It doesn't matter if I know. It matters if you do."

"What am I supposed to know?"

"That it's better to know for sure than to be in doubt."

Joan blinked a couple of times. "Okay. I'm lost."

God sighed. "Why do you like to make assumptions about everything? It's neither good nor healthy. You have a knack for misinterpretation." Joan blinked again, but she was only pretending not to know what He was talking about. She knew very well.

"Misinterpret? What is there to misinterpret?"

"You know, for someone who's been studying and doing homework all afternoon, you have learned nothing."

Joan glared at God again. With the blond hair and the uniform's dark jacket and tie, He looked remarkably like a Prince William of sorts. Though much more obnoxious; and not as cute. "Just for your information, it's very difficult to take you seriously when you look like a pampered little brat prince."

God smirked. "You wanna know what's going on? Maybe you'd want to stop beating around the bush and ask the person you _say_ you trust," He said, emphasizing the word 'say'. Joan took another deep breath.

"Adam?" she asked, knowing that was whom He meant. "You're not serious, are you? Why would I want to butt into other people's business? Everyone keeps pointing out what a bad habit of mine that is."

God didn't reply. He just turned on his heel and made to get back on the car. "Need a ride?"

Joan looked to her left, in the direction Adam had gone. She could still see him, getting further away.

"No, thanks," she said. "Tell your driver, wherever you might have gotten him, to be more careful. Or I might have to sock him next time."

"Why? Do you plan to continue crossing streets recklessly? I'm telling _you_ to be careful."

Before she could snap at Him, Joan willed herself to leave and she sprinted after Adam. God stared after her for a moment, then climbed back into the car and told Tom to take it away.

------------------------

**__**_I did a little research on this term or name. It is actually both. Arcadia is a region of Greece, in the Peloponnesus, where people lived a simple, content life, mostly because they were disconnected from the rest of the world. Also, Arcadia is the name of a bunch of cities in the United States, for example, there is one residential suburb called Arcadia City in Los Angeles, (that's southern California, people, I used to live there and I actually had a few friends who lived in Arcadia, one who, freakishly enough, is named Joan. I suppose she gets teased a lot now, but I wouldn't know, haven't spoken to her in ages). But Arcadia, as a concept in a religious or supernatural context, is a synonym for heaven, utopia, paradise, Eden, the afterlife, Shangri-La, wonderland, Zion, kingdom come, nirvana, promised land, seventh heaven and many, many, MANY more. So in this case, what Jordan said has a sort of double meaning. _

**__**_I just had to put that in. Grand Tomahawk reigns!!! (For those who don't know, it's a band formed recently by a group of friends, including Gavin and Cristina a.k.a Tough Cookie, both of whom partially inspired a couple of characters you'll meet later.)_

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Again, I am soooooo sorry for the delay. I've had so much going on, but I was determined not to put this story in hiatus (though, technically, I did). So congratulate me for persevering (I mean that, please. I could use a boost of confidence).

Thanks to Mike, as always, for his help and support. Thanks to Seth for fixing my computer. Thanks to my friends for keeping me sane. Thanks to Joey for reminding to continue with the story (God knows, I need a human agenda to remind me of things, I should start paying her for it). Thanks to Anne for keeping in touch. Big thanks to Jake for the inspiration and compliments (and for being so darn cool). And last but not least, to the reviewers. My fellow JoA fans, you're the best.

[ In the darkness ]


	7. It's all just a little bit of history re...

I'm very sorry I took so long to post again. I've been awfully distracted and busy, then trying to overcome a major writer's block. I went to the Olympics! Opening and closing ceremony, and just a couple of sport events. Saw the road race for men (cycling), where my compatriot Paolo Bettini won the gold medal. Yay! But that was about it, could skip only a few days at work. Now I'm rather caught up in the UEFA craze (it's just one thing after another, I might be getting sick of watching soccer, but I can't voice that feeling because my friends, family, neighbours and especially my boyfriend might kill me).

Author's note: just in case it's not very clear, my story takes facts and events from the actual TV series episodes, but not all. So let's pretend Joan never had Lyme disease and she never told Adam that she talks to God and season two hasn't even started (cuz, in fact, for me it hasn't). Mmmkay? Mmmkay. Mike's been giving me a hard time about that.

Soundtrack: what's currently in my CD player: Keane's "Hopes and Fears" (I love "Somewhere only we know", it's one of the sweetest songs ever); the Garden State Soundtrack, and Ray Charles's greatest hits CD.

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The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Seven – It's all just a little bit of history repeating

------------------------

"Adam! Adam, wait!"

Joan was panting slightly by the time she reached the dark-haired boy's side. Adam wheeled and looked at her with an odd smile as she put her hands on her waist and grinned casually, in spite of her accelerated breathing. "Are you okay, Jane? Did you need something?" he asked once she seemed to have recovered.

Joan drew a blank. She had gone after Adam, just like God told her to. Now what? How was she supposed to bring up the subject she wanted desperately to discuss? She smiled again, trying to seem nonchalant, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, nothing, I just thought we could walk home together and keep each other company," she ventured.

Adam looked puzzled. "Isn't your house down the other way, from where you just came from?"

Joan mentally kicked herself. "Okay, fine. I'm just buying time, cuz I don't want to go home yet. Not after what happened in there this afternoon," she said. There. That was definitively more convincing. She did in fact feel a bit reluctant of going home and finding the aftermath of the cheese fire still fresh and tangible in the air.

Adam nodded in understanding, then he looked at her curiously. "What happened in your house this afternoon, anyway?"

Joan frowned. "I won't go there, you can forget about it." Adam chuckled and shrugged. They began walking again, toward Adam's house, just a couple of blocks away. Jordan found she could barely help walking at a normal pace when she actually needed to go as slow as possible, if she wanted to have this talk with Adam.

"Aw man! The Foo Fighters are coming?!" Adam said suddenly. Joan looked confused. She then realized Adam was pointing to a lamppost, where a duct-taped poster announced the alternative band's venue in almost three weeks. The last big concert that had come anywhere near Arcadia had been The White Stripes, one of Joan's favorite bands, and she had been forced to pass on the chance of going with Adam, because God had her work that night on the volunteering program for babysitting children of abused mothers. On top of that, since Joan couldn't go, Adam had taken Iris instead. Just remembering that made Joan's ears get a little warm.

She took a closer look at the poster and frowned. "Blakefield? That's nearly two hours from here," she said. Adam shook his head.

"Hour and a half," he corrected. Joan narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, yeah, much better," she said sarcastically.

"It doesn't matter. I'll try to get us tickets," Adam asked as they kept walking. "I mean, I don't know if you like the Foo Fighters, but it would be cool if you came."

"Of course I would go. I love the Foo Fighters," she answered.

"Really? I didn't know," he replied. "Guess I just never pegged you as a rock type of person. I always thought you were more of a pop person. You know, a Justin girl."

Joan looked a little offended. "Well, yeah, I like him, but I'm more of an Avril Lavigne-pop sort of person. And hey! I like rock. I like the White Stripes, remember?"

"I thought you only liked the White Stripes because you thought Jack White was hot."

Joan racked her brains. This wasn't going as she planned. "Okay, yeah, but I like their music too. Hey, Jordan must like the Foo Fighters too. I mean, she does have a poster of them in her bedroom," she ventured, suddenly remembering all the posters plastered on Jordan's closet doors. "She'd probably like to come too, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," Adam nodded. Joan seized her chance.

"Speaking of Jordan, you guys get along very well, don't you?" Well, that wasn't as subtle as she had hoped, but it worked. Adam looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, yeah, I guess we do. We share some things. Like art. It's nice to talk to her about art. She knows a lot."

"That can't be all you guys talk about," she commented with a chuckle. "You don't whisper about art, do you? And yet, sometimes I see you two and you're whispering, like it's a big secret." Her voice pitch went up a notch. Adam frowned in confusion.

"What do you think we whisper about?"

Joan shrugged with a forced smile. "I don't know, I was just wondering. You guys are always so chummy, it's all very mysterious."

"Mysterious? I don't know…" he was looking at her strangely. Joan had to avoid his eyes. "What are you trying to get at? Do you think I'm keeping a secret from you?"

"Hey, I'm only asking because we don't keep secrets from each other. Not anymore. And now you are doing exactly that." Her voice was definitively high-pitched; she sounded like she wanted to pick a fight with him. She tried to even her voice.

"You keep secrets from me," he said, a slight crease on his forehead. Was he trying to provoke her? Her defences went up.

"Well, I have my reasons, you know that."

It was Adam's turn to be defensive. "Well, maybe I have reasons to keep this secret from you, too. Hasn't that occurred to you?"

Joan stopped walking and faced him. Her jaw tensed as it always did when she was in a stressful situation, making her look fierce. "Is that so?"

"It is so." Adam stopped too and looked decidedly into her eyes.

"And what reason might that be? Can you tell me that?"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "It's just that… it's not my secret to tell."

Joan's stiff jaw slackened, and she was quiet for a moment. "It's Jordan's secret," she said. It was more a statement than a question. She had an inkling.

Adam shrugged slightly. "Yeah."

"Oh…" Joan said. She suddenly felt very stupid and very awkward. "Sorry," she added, before she felt even worse.

Adam didn't say anything. Joan couldn't tell if he didn't want to talk to her or if he wasn't really paying attention to her. He seemed to be immersed in his thoughts.

"She said she wanted to tell you."

Joan looked up at him again, slightly puzzled. "Jordan did?"

Adam nodded. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, actually," he mumbled, mostly to himself. "She said something about not wanting to abuse your trust."

Joan thought for a moment. If Jordan had said that, she was probably not talking about her stealing issue. Joan already knew about that. She was already bearing one of Jordan's secrets. Of course Jordan wouldn't want to ask too much from Joan, especially since they didn't know each other that well.

In the meantime, Joan could feel that annoying prickly sensation of curiosity at the back of her mind, which made her realize she was just dying to ask what that big second secret was. In some other part of her brain, at the same time, rumbled the echoing words of Grace, Adam, Luke and a whole other bunch of people who once or twice (or a million times) had attacked her about her very annoying habit of butting into other people's business.

Her curiosity got the best of her, nonetheless. "Why would she say that?" she asked in what she hoped was a sincerely oblivious tone.

Adam shrugged again. "I don't know. Guess she doesn't feel she's already there with you. Y'know, at that level of trust where she can share private things with you."

"Oh, but she's already in that level with you? You've known her for as long as I have!" Joan argued, stopping again. Her voice was louder now.

"You don't understand," Adam said, shaking his head. He looked like he was trying really hard to stay calm, even if Joan's nostrils were flaring at him.

"What don't I understand?" she demanded, hands on her hips. Adam let out a deep sigh.

"Okay, I might as well tell you about it, because if I don't, you're just going to keep going like this. Besides, I think it's rather important that you know."

"Tell me." She crossed her arms expectantly.

Adam waited a moment, biting his lip, as if having seconds thoughts. Then he sighed again. "Jordan's father walked out on her family when she was twelve."

It took a couple of seconds for Adam's words to sink in. "Oh," she uttered, staring at him, her eyes becoming sad, as it dawned on her.

Of course, it made sense at simple glance. They _did_ have that in common. Jordan had no father. Adam had no mother. They were actually almost the same age when it happened. It was not the same situation exactly, but she guessed it must feel pretty much the same.

"Do you get it now?" Adam asked. Joan couldn't say anything. She couldn't even nod. She felt so stupid. More than that, she felt ashamed. How is it that she always misinterpreted everything? Her cheeks flushed and she was unable to look at him in the eye, so she fixed her gaze on the ground.

And why did she always have to make everything about her? She already knew that Jordan and Adam weren't interested in each other in any romantic way, and thanks to Jordan, Joan could be sure that Adam fancied her and no one else. So anything that they shared privately had to be about something totally different (unless Jordan had been telling her a barefaced lie, which would be an awful thing from her part).

When she looked up, they were standing in front of Adam's house. All the lights were out inside, but the front porch was illuminated by a pair of lanterns at either side of the door. Adam led Joan up the steps and they sat down on a wicker couch beneath the living room window.

"So… you guys talk about that?" Joan asked. She wished she knew what to say. This whole situation had become very off-limits to her.

He nodded. "It's nice to have someone to share those things."

Joan became saddened. Yeah, this was definitively off-limits. And it made her feel left out. "Can't you share them with me? Or someone else?" She knew the answer.

"Well, yeah, but… it's not the same," Adam said tentatively, as if he didn't want to say anything that might hurt Joan.

"Doesn't she talk to her family about it, too? Her mom and her sister?"

"Yeah. But she's talked to them all this time. I don't know, I guess it's nice to have someone else to share with."

Joan nodded, as if she thought it made sense. She actually had no idea.

A few seconds of silence went by. Joan gazed around Adam's front yard, at the many sculptures he had there. The sun was setting, so most of the sculptures seemed to disappear in the dusk; unlike during daylight, when the sun glinted on the metal and the glass, like a luminary display.

"You'd never guess it, would you?" Adam continued. He was looking into space, and Joan was looking at him. "Not from the way she is. You'd think she hasn't got a single problem in the world." He had a slight smile on his face, but his voice was low, mournful. Joan wanted to hug him. She just couldn't will herself to do it.

There was something oddly familiar about this situation. Something painful. She didn't want to think about it right now. All she wanted to do right now was go home.

"I have to go home."

She stood up all of a sudden, accidentally dropping her bag. Adam stared up at her, startled.

"Ah- do you want me to walk you?" he stammered. Joan shook her head.

"Why would you want to do that? You're already home," she replied. He blinked in response, but she couldn't read his face. "Thanks, anyway. I'll be fine," she added quickly, smiling. As she grabbed her bag, Adam got to his feet, pulling out his keys. He seemed hesitant. She lingered in front of him, looking for something to say.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. He looked straight at her, expectant. "I didn't mean to pry. I shouldn't have gone and attacked you like I did. It's just—I was just…" she stopped to breath in deeply. "Maybe I was a bit jealous."

That seemed to baffle Adam. "Jealous?"

"Maybe. I don't know." This was one of those moments she wished a meteorite would crash into earth and land directly on her. However, Adam didn't seem to get what she meant. He just shrugged dismissively and grinned.

"Never mind. It's not something to be jealous of. Anyway, I'm glad we cleared this up. I get the feeling you had quite a misconception about Jordan."

Joan shook her head. "It's not just about that. I feel terrible. I'm—"

"Jane," Adam cut her off, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. We'll talk later, okay?"

Joan swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to kiss him, but for some reason she didn't. He smiled at her again, dropping his hand to his side. "Good night, Jane."

"Good… night…" Joan responded, a little thrown off by his cool attitude, and amazed at how honest Adam had been with her, even when he was talking about someone else. She started walking away, stepping down from the porch. Not halfway down the path to the sidewalk, she stopped in her toes. "Hey, just out of curiosity," she began, turning sharply back to him, "what was it that she gave you before we left? That piece of paper."

Adam grinned knowingly, as if he had been expecting her to ask about that. "It's an essay she wrote. I can't show it to you. It's rather personal, but she wanted me to read it, because it's about… well, you might have guessed already."

"Yeah, sure. I understand," Joan said. She did, in fact, understand more than he probably thought, having read practically the whole thing by accident. Of course, she wasn't about to tell Adam she had.

"Jane, do you mind not telling Jordan? I mean, that it was me who told you? I don't want her to be mad at me for not keeping her secret."

Joan looked at him in surprise. He had been honest with her, but at a cost. Joan didn't know Jordan well enough to know how she might react to this sort of betrayal, especially from Adam, who had become her confidant. After all, he had promised to keep her secret. She suddenly blushed, feeling like it was all her fault.

"Don't worry, I won't say a word."

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Ten minutes later, Joan reached her own street, stepping onto the sidewalk. The sun had set completely, and the lampposts shone overhead at either side of the road, pinpoints against the light purple sky.

Joan feared what she would find once she entered her house. Her mother was probably back from the PTA meeting a long time ago, and considering the mess Joan had left her with, it most certainly wouldn't be a warm reception that she would be getting. Today, things definitively weren't going her way.

"Another fine mess."

Joan didn't jump at the sound of the strange voice. In fact, she had been half-expecting it. She looked to her right, and sure enough, there He was. It was hippie dog-walker God. With the six usual dogs careening in front of Him, pulling at their leashes, God caught up with Joan quickly.

"Oh, my, it's so nice to see you," she said in mock sweetness, but she didn't want to be rude. "Just don't taunt me. I'm not in the mood."

"Are you ever? Now what is it this time?"

Joan shot Him a sharp look, the same she used every time He pretended to be oblivious. She took a deep breath. "I just made a fool of myself. I always do. I don't know how I still haven't gotten used to it."

"You're only human. You have pride. It's essential."

Pride, yeah. But what did it matter, anyway? She still felt like an idiot. "I just feel bad because I feel—"

"Like you've been in this situation before?"

Joan gaped at God, not surprised, but rather annoyed. God smirked, trying not to seem like a smart-ass, even though Joan perceived Him as one like she always did.

He motioned for her to sit on the curb. He did the same, and all the dogs stopped trying to drag him and just sat in front of them, looking like children waiting for the storyteller to begin a good read. "You made the same mistake again," He told her. Joan didn't have to think twice before she knew what He meant. She remembered all of a sudden, like an embarrassing moment caught on video and played over and over again, the day she had found out about Adam's mom. It had been chance, or it had been faith. Joan leaned more towards the second option; after all, she was the pawn, and God was the chess player. He always saw six moves (or more) ahead.

It didn't feel good at all, to make the same mistake again. But how was she supposed to know? She guessed she should have known the first time, something was wrong, considering Adam's strange behaviour around that time. Then again, Adam was not an average person, and his behaviour was seldom normal. And Joan hadn't known him that well, either. In Jordan's case, it was roughly any different. Two weeks was definitively not enough time to know a person. Jordan's attitude hardly gave anything away, especially not a family crisis four years ago. What was more, according to Adam, Jordan had been keen on keeping this from Joan; whether it was really a matter of too much trust or lack of trust or something completely different, Joan didn't know. But if it hadn't been for Adam, Joan wasn't actually supposed to find out. How would she have figured it out on her own, if not?

"Listening," God said, reading her mind.

"Listening to what?" Joan asked, getting a bit exasperated. God's meaningful stare told her she should know the answer already. Joan found herself thinking back to everything Jordan had said to her. Jordan had never explained all the reasons she and her family had moved to the U.S. A family that, Joan realized until now, was lacking a father. But even that wasn't crystal-clear.

"I still don't see how you expected me to figure it out myself. Her attitude barely gives anything away." Joan caught God's meaningful look once again, one that clearly said "are you absolutely sure?". It dawned on her.

"Wait… is that why she's a kleptomaniac?" Joan asked.

"It's one the reasons, yeah," God replied. Joan was dumbfounded. _There's more than one reason?_ she thought. It made a lot of sense now. Four years later, and Jordan was still doing it. For what?

"Why didn't you warn me? Why don't you ever warn me?" she asked. She couldn't help feeling a bit mortified.

"Do I really have to tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She looked disheartened. After all this, it would be rather difficult to be around Jordan and act like nothing was going on. She felt exactly the same as she had felt when she learned about Adam's mother. When she realized she didn't pay enough attention to others. Like she was a self-absorbed brat.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," God said, again reading her mind. "There's always a chance to fix things. It's never too late to make up for your mistakes."

"Make up for what? I didn't do anything!" She was being defensive again.

"You violated her privacy," said God matter-of-factly.

"I didn't! Adam is the one who told me everything!"

"So you didn't read the essay?"

Joan was going to snap back, but she was stumped at that comment. She felt terrible all over again.

"When she felt like she was ready to tell you, she would have." He sounded like He was scolding her, but His demeanour was sympathetic.

Joan sighed. "So I'm supposed to play dumb when she finally decides to tell me about it?"

"Not at all. Be honest. She'll appreciate it."

She gave him a tired frown, as if she couldn't take any more information. They fell quiet. She rested her chin on her knees and stared at the dogs, all of them staring back at her with their tongues hanging out of their open snouts. One of them yawned.

"Do you feel sorry for her?" God asked, breaking the silence.

Joan thought for a moment. "Not really, no. I mean, why should I? She obviously doesn't feel sorry for herself."

"Exactly. It's not like she never did. But it changes, you know. She grew. Not to mention she had a lot of support from her family. Especially her mom and her sister."

Joan nearly let out a snort. She thought of Giulia and the attitude she had displayed that afternoon, and had trouble thinking of her as a supportive sister. She guessed there was more to her than they had had a chance to meet.

"It's a lot like what happened with Adam," God continued, catching Joan's full attention. "He felt sorry for himself for a very long time. In fact, it wasn't until you helped him uncover the truth that he stopped feeling bad."

"Of course," Joan muttered in realization. "He thought it had been his fault his mother..." she trailed off, unable to say it. She shook her head. "I still don't understand why he would think that."

"You obviously wouldn't. But you helped him overcome his fears and find the truth once and for all. You liberated him."

_Wow_. Joan hadn't actually thought about it that way. She only remembered being worried sick about him, thinking he would actually hurt himself, all because of an unopened letter that had been haunting him for three years.

"It's a long road to travel to overcome pain; it's hard at first, but it gets easier near the end," God said, His voice hollow. "Everything that has a beginning has an end."

Joan was speechless, and she got an odd feeling in her gut. God's words sounded awfully cryptic, even when He smiled warmly as he said them. In a daze, she got up and straightened her jeans where they had bunched up at her thighs. God stood up, too, and the dogs followed suit, wagging their tails energetically.

"I should probably go. Mom's probably waiting for me so she can yell."

"Would you blame her?" God said, switching back to His usual snippy self. Joan glared. She watched him start to lead the dogs away, when it occurred to her.

"Hey!" she called out, then felt dumb, "um… is there any specific reason why she has a… a painting of a devil… that she made herself… hanging on her bedroom wall?"

God pretended ignorance. "What do you mean?"

"What do I—don't pretend you don't know what I mean, mister Almighty," Joan scolded. "You know very well I mean… is there any reason why I should be… frightened?"

He shook His head. "Has she ever given you any reason to be frightened?"

"Well, that bit about the shoplifting was a bit scary, yeah," Joan explained matter-of-factly.

"You think you should be frightened of what a person believes in?"

"People can do strange things or scary things because of what they believe in."

"Ah, you hit the nail right in the head," God said in a strange cheery-educational-TV-show-host voice.

Joan frowned and threw up her arms. "I don't even know what I'm talking about!"

God rolled His eyes. "No, no reason to be afraid. Jordan just likes the devil. As in, she thought it painted a good picture. But she doesn't actually believe in it."

"She doesn't?"

"C'mon, a cosmopolitan girl raised by a liberal mother upon anarchic principles, while growing up in the shadow of Vatican City, living outside an organized religion, breaking the long chain of devoted Catholics that trace back all the way to their Roman ancestors?" He asked dramatically. "Of course not."

"Wow," Joan voiced, raising her eyebrows. "Does she believe in you?"

"Yes, she does."

"Really? In spite of everything you just said?"

God said with confidence. "Sure. Everyone does, one way or another. I go by many names. In Jordan's case, she believes in me as the universal higher force that lives in everything and everyone, that created everything that has been, everything she knows… and everything she will know in the future."

"Oh, you're so modest," Joan teased.

"There are levels to everything, you know. Levels in which people can do things, whether good or bad or scary, because of what they believe in," God explained. "You've done some pretty frightening things because you believe in me. That doesn't mean you're a person to fear, does it?"

Before Joan could respond, the dogs took off running, yanking God behind them, practically dragging Him down the street until Joan couldn't see them anymore.

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This has been, so far, the most annoying chapter I've written for this story. It was long and too much blah, blah, and I got stumped a thousand times. So glad I've put it behind me.

Next one should come soon enough. This one would have been longer if it weren't because I decided to chop off the last part and post it in the next chapter. So technically, half of next chapter is done. And also, next chapter, I will introduce new characters, new looks for God, and a soundtrack for this series, put together by The Original Chemist.

Mike's note: I would like to point out that I'm proud of Alexz. Jordan's story is supposed to be a little tragic (a little, not too much), but judging from the way she writes about it in this part (and the next one, but you'll see about that later), rest assured that you won't see a sort of parallel between Jordan's family crisis and Iris's family crisis. I don't know about you people, but I was outraged at the way the writers of the show introduced Iris to us, as if they wanted us to feel sorry for her and accept her, like "oh poor little new character with a sad story, we must make her feel welcome or she might never fit into this world". I am so glad she disappeared. Her story was just pathetic.

Thanks for reading! See you next time!

In the darkness


	8. The Lost Man

Okay, well, I saw the first episode of the new season, it was awesome!!!! Mike suggested that I adapt my story to the show, but keeping to my original story plot. I've done it before; I can keep doing, can't I? We'll see how that goes.

Soundtrack: a song called "I wonder" by unknown artist (heard it in a commercial), Vanessa Carlton's "White houses", and Kelly Clarkson's "Break away".

Alexz: And now The Chemist has a confession to make.

Mike: _-sigh-_ It was my fault this chapter took so long to post. I gave myself too much time to proofread it and another lifetime to send it back to her. I'm sorry, it won't happen again.

Alexz: And?

Mike: _-rolls eyes in annoyance-_ And Alexz is a very pretty lady.

Alexz: And?

Mike: _-teeth grit-_ And so am I.

Alexz: _-pats him on the head-_ Atta, girl.

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The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Eight – The lost man

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Helen Girardi dropped a bag of chamomile tea in a mug of water, and then carried it over to the microwave to heat up. She was tired. After Joan left her with a handful that afternoon, Helen had tried to pick up the mess in the kitchen as fast as she could; the fire extinguisher foam was easy to clean, but the dark spot on the floor where the Pyrex dish had crashed and burned was a bit more reluctant. In fact it was still there. As for the smoke and the stench in the air, Helen had to request Luke's help to put aromatic candles all over the house, vacuum the carpets and curtains and atomize all the furniture with linen spray (and Helen realized how, erm, unhelpful Luke was when it came to house chores or the like). Now, finally, the air had stopped stinking.

However, all that running around made her half an hour late for the PTA. It was embarrassing; some of the parents mumbled amongst each other and shook their heads disapprovingly when she burst through the auditorium door, breathless and disheveled. She went red in the face and didn't even dare take her seat in the teachers' area, choosing to disappear in the back row instead, joining a lone woman who gave her a sympathetic smile. Before she knew it, it was Helen's turn to address the parents about her class, and that was another embarrassment, because in her hurry to leave home, she had forgotten her notes. To her relief, the woman on the back came to Helen's rescue, making some suggestions and praising the teaching methods and course syllabus Helen exposed. After the meeting was over, the parents and teachers all retreated to the back of the auditorium, where drinks and snacks were served (Helen remembered with a groan, the cheese sticks Joan had tried to make); she ended up having a nice chat with the woman from before, about their kids and the troubles they caused. After a hectic afternoon, it was nice to have a friendly conversation with a fellow parent who shared so much with her. But she was glad when she could come back home and take a breather.

"Hey, mom."

Helen looked up and found her daughter standing just outside the doorway, clutching the frame and biting on her thumbnail nervously, as if she were afraid to come in. Helen kept her anger in check and just moved to the kitchen table, cup in hand, and acknowledged her with a barely audible "hey".

Joan hesitated before actually walking in and approaching her mother's side. Out of the corner of her eye, Helen could see Joan shuffling with uncertainty; it was obvious, judging from her manner, that Joan felt bad about how she bailed, and she would probably manage to coax Helen into granting her mercy one way or another. But Helen wouldn't give in so easily. Not this time.

"Where's everybody?" Joan asked sheepishly.

"Luke is upstairs in his room. Your father and Kevin should be home in a while." Helen sounded like a robot, her voice emotionless. Joan bit her lip again.

"How was the meeting?" she asked in a sweet voice. Helen sniffed rather spitefully.

"I was late."

"Oh," Joan bit her lip. She was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," she finally muttered. Helen said nothing.

Joan finally sat down on the chair across from Helen and observed her mother nursing the mug of tea silently. She searched her mind for something to say.

"Listen," she began tentatively, looking down at her hands on the tabletop. "I'm… I was only trying to do something nice for you." Her voice was honest. Perhaps Helen perceived that, because her eyes rolled onto Joan, even if her facial expression was not at all welcoming. Joan shrugged, still not looking at her. "I guess it doesn't matter how simple it is, I always manage to screw up somehow."

Helen knew that tone of voice. It was extortion; whether Joan was using it on purpose or not, Helen didn't know. But it seemed to always work. Even this time.

She tried to keep a straight face, but somehow broke into a smile and gave Joan a sympathetic stare. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you wanted to do for me," she explained. "But leaving me like that to fix what you had broken was definitively not nice. I understand you had things to do, and you were in a hurry; but so was I, and you kind of trashed my schedule with that little stunt."

Joan was decidedly downcast. This had been a lousy afternoon, in every aspect. "I'm really sorry." She was being sincere.

Helen sighed thoughtfully. "I'm going to put it behind me this time. Just don't expect me to be as understanding IF something like this ever happens again." Her voice was softer and she was leaning onto the table, closer to Joan. In spite of it, Joan still felt terrible.

"I'm never cooking again," she said, her tone serious.

Helen chuckled. "Don't say that. I'm sure that if you had remembered to take those cheese sticks out of the oven in time, they would've been good."

Joan gave her mother a half-smile. "Well, at least I'm never cooking with bleu cheese again." Helen chuckled again. Joan smiled wider now, feeling a bit better. "So, how did the meeting go?" she asked, deciding to change the subject.

"It went well. We barely talked about the graduation, but there's plenty of time," Helen replied. "I did well on my little speech, even when I forgot my notes. The food was good. I met the parents of the new kids in your year, they were nice. Especially Jordan Canavaggio's mom."

Joan looked interested. "You met Jordan's mom?"

Helen nodded. "Yes. Estella Canavaggio. And then I found out she was an art gallery curator, which explained why she was so interested in my class."

"Yeah, Jordan said she's into art mostly because of her mother's influence," Joan added. She got up to get a mug from the dish rack; she wanted some of that tea, too.

"She's an interesting woman," Helen continued, as Joan fetched a chamomile teabag from the pantry and then went to fill the mug with water from the sink tap. "And rather brave, too. I don't know if you know, but her husband, Jordan's father, he left them a few years back. And he never came back."

Joan stopped, water overflowing the mug. "I know," she replied softly. It was a statement.

Helen shook her head lightly. "Of course you know. Jordan probably already told you about it. Not surprising; you two seem to get along great."

Joan was annoyed suddenly, because everyone seemed to think that Jordan and her had become best friends overnight, and it was equally vexing to pretend everyone had it correctly as it was to actually correct them. But she also felt a tinge of sadness, because Jordan's secret was out, whether she liked it or not, and people who weren't supposed to know it yet (a list which, as far as Joan knew, included only herself) were onto it as well.

Joan didn't say anything. She turned off the faucet and took the mug to the microwave, programming a minute of heating.

"She and her two daughters traveled a lot after that," her mother continued. "But they were always somewhere around Europe, close to home. I still don't understand what made them come to the United States; they seemed to be fine over there. She says it was because it's supposed to be the land of opportunities, but I think she was only kidding. She says they have some family and friends right here in Arizona. Close to Arcadia." Helen took a sip from her mug and sighed.

The microwave beeped when the water was heated, and Joan pulled it out and dropped the teabag inside.

"Poor Estella. And poor girls," Helen said under her breath, more to herself than to Joan. Joan frowned.

"Don't say that, mom," she reproached. "You don't feel sorry for them, do you?"

Helen shrugged. "No, of course not. I'm actually impressed. It must have been very hard, and they probably were very… brave." She followed Joan with her eyes as her daughter sat down again, drinking her tea. "I just suppose it couldn't have been easy at all. Not at first."

"No, I guess not."

Helen stood up to put her now empty mug in the sink. "Jordan seems to be very independent; like, self-sufficient. Must have gotten that from her mother. It sounded like there was nothing Estella wouldn't do to ensure that her daughters had everything they needed. It's not easy for one person to pull that off."

Upon hearing this, Joan felt admiration for Mrs. Canavaggio. She guessed it was difficult to raise two daughters alone, but she seemed to have succeeded resoundingly. Jordan obviously looked up to her mother, for everything she had done for her and Giulia. It was at that moment that Joan realized how much she actually underestimated her own mother. How she took for granted everything her mother always did for her.

Joan's face scrunched up and tears welled in her eyes. "Mom, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, and she covered her face with her hands.

Helen was stunned silent. "Honey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" she asked. Joan shook her head and tried to swallow her sobs.

"I'm such a brat," she muttered. "I have you and I have dad and you two give me everything I need. And still I act like I don't need you. But the truth is I do, I need you guys, and I don't know what I would do without you. But I'm ungrateful and spoiled and self-centered, and I make up for a lousy daughter. I whine and complain all the time, and you still put up with my crap. And I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Joan began wailing again, tears running down her cheeks. Helen was stunned again, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She suppressed a giggle and went to hug her daughter.

"Oh, sweetie," she began, wondering what to say. "You're not a brat. Not anymore, at least."

Joan sniffed loudly and reached for a napkin to blow her nose. "Yes, I am."

"Joan, I don't think you've realized it, but you've grown a lot. You've matured. And I'm proud of you."

"How can you say that? I just made a mess in the kitchen today, not to mention I nearly burned the house down, and then I ran out on you! How much more selfish can I get?"

"Well, if I can put that past me, then so can you. Just don't let it happen again, that's all I'm asking."

Joan didn't say anything. Her sobs subsided, but she continued to sniffle. Helen smiled reassuringly and returned to her chair.

They were silent for a while. Joan had a sudden flashback to the night her mother had confessed to her that she had been raped in college. Joan had been in shock; she remembered crying a little, and Helen doing her best not to follow suit. Helen told her daughter about how she managed to put it behind her; she also told her about being strong, and about being smart when it comes to guys. Joan suddenly realized that Helen was not just her mother, but also a woman. She was someone who could tell her what it was like to be a girl and suddenly grow up and have all these decisions to make and all these risks to take, and about taking the reins of her own life. Because it didn't matter whether she had a harsh past or a difficult present; Joan was a free woman in this scary world, the owner of her life, and she could make of it whatever she wanted it to be. And that's exactly what her mother was raising her to do.

"Mom, what would you do if dad left us?" she asked suddenly. Helen frowned, taken by surprise with that question.

"Honey, your father would never leave us. He loves us all very much. Don't think those things—"

"I know, mom, I don't… I mean," Joan interrupted, "just hypothetically, if dad weren't dad, if he were different, and he left, what would you do?"

Helen thought for a moment, clearly not sure of what to say. "Oh well… I don't know. I'd like to think I would do as Stella Canavaggio. Be strong, for my children. Be strong for myself." She smiled sheepishly. Joan smiled back.

"I know you would," she said in a reassuring voice.

Helen chuckled. "I figured you'd say that. But what if I couldn't be that strong?" she asked, suddenly hesitant. Joan grinned wider and patted her mom's hand across the table.

"I'd help you, mom."

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Joan woke up the next morning with a heavy heart. Last night's talk with her mother, not to mention her talk with Adam, had caused a certain apprehension; she didn't want to have to see Jordan today. She would feel especially bad because she knew she wasn't supposed to find out about Jordan's father from anyone but Jordan herself. It would be awkward to be around her pretending to not know anything. But she had to keep her promise to Adam.

"What happened to the floor?" Kevin asked as Joan entered the kitchen, attempting to tie her shoelaces as she walked and nearly falling face-first into Luke's cereal bowl as he passed in front of her. He shoved her out of the way and went to sit at the breakfast table, and Joan lost her balance and landed sideways on the floor with a thud, right next to the dark stain on the floor tiles Kevin was pointing at.

"Ask Joan," Luke said with a mouthful of Lucky Charms, and he grinned mischievously. Joan propped herself up and glared at her little brother.

"Is anybody aware that the kitchen clock is a little delayed and it's not really as early as you think?" Helen asked, bursting into the kitchen with a white scarf hanging precariously from her neck, a bunch of books and a sketchpad stacked with loose papers on one hand and a half-eaten granola bar on the other. "And why isn't the coffee ready by now?" she demanded, looking angrily at the empty pot beneath the coffee maker.

"You forgot to turn it on," Luke pointed out, munching loudly on his cereal.

"And you knew I had, but you still were incapable of switching it on for me?" his mother protested. Her three children froze in fear. Helen was not in the best mood.

"Helen, Helen, that vein on your neck is starting to show. Relax," Will said, coming from behind Helen and putting his hands on her shoulders. "I know you had a hectic night yesterday, but you need to take things easy."

Joan put a couple of Pop Tarts in the toaster. "Do you need help, mom? Can I put those things in your bag for you?" she asked sweetly, reaching out for the books in Helen's hands. Everyone stopped and looked at her strangely.

"What?" Joan asked, nonplussed. Helen grinned knowingly and handed the books to her daughter.

"Nothing, sweetie. Thank you very much, I appreciate it," she said, and caressed Joan's hair. Joan smiled back and ignored the others. She took the books over to the living room and put them in her mother's bag, then went back into the kitchen to get her breakfast.

"Well, I'm off. Can't afford to be late this early in the year. Later," she announced, taking her Pop Tarts out of the toaster and wrapping them in a napkin. She kissed both her parents on the cheeks, grabbed her book bag and coat and exited through the back door. Everyone stared after her, still looking puzzled, until Luke spoke up through another mouthful of cereal.

"Pod people, anyone?"

Kevin thwapped his youngest sibling upside the head.

"Hey!" Luke protested.

"Dork."

Joan arrived at the school grounds some ten minutes before the bell would ring, and found none other than Jordan herself sitting on the cement steps that led up to the building entrance. She was writing something on a notebook while occasionally glancing at a thick textbook propped on her feet as if they were a reading desk. After much debate, Joan went over to her.

"Hey, Jordan," she said when she sat next to the girl. Jordan looked at her and barely smiled in acknowledgement while mumbling something that sounded like "hello", before gluing her eyes back on the notebook on her lap. Joan could tell, from the numbers scribbled across the page, that this was a calculus assignment. Joan wondered if she should interrupt her, when Jordan gave a low groan of exasperation and shut the notebook closed.

"Argh! I hate calculus! Or rather, calculus hates me," she whined.

"You're not alone, you know?" Joan said, taking the book from Jordan's feet and closing it. She just realized she had forgot to do that same assignment herself. Professor Graff would not be very merciful.

"Somehow that does not make me feel any better," Jordan replied. "Here's the finished report, if you want to look it over," she handed Joan a red hardcover binder folder. "And you left this at my house," she added, pulling Joan's cell phone out of the pocket of her bag. "Don't ever do that again, please. Grace kept leaving you missed calls and it was driving me crazy."

"Oh… sorry about that," Joan apologized. Jordan opened her notebook again. She scribbled a few things, but promptly stopped, grimacing.

"Mmm, I wish Dante were here," Jordan said absent-mindedly. "He'd help me finish this stupid assignment." She closed the notebook again and shoved it into her book bag. "No use. I'll just have to come up with some excuse. I just want to forget about it."

"Okay," Joan said lowly.

"So my mom told me that she met your mom last night. She said she was impressed. Not surprising; your mom is a really good art teacher," Jordan commented with a smile. Joan tried to smile back, but there was something bothering her, pinching at the back of her mind.

"Uh, Jordan, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have read your essay."

Jordan was obviously taken aback; she probably didn't expect Joan to bring that up. Still, she gave Joan a reassuring smile.

"It's okay," she replied, but it sounded somewhat forced. "Did you read it whole?"

Joan swallowed hard. She might as well be honest. "Most of it."

"I supposed you couldn't tell me what you thought of it."

Joan felt a sort of cold sweat breaking at the back of her neck. She was uneasy. It was as if Jordan was probing her or something. "I don't know. I'm not that good with essays."

Jordan chuckled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound pushy. I just wanted to know what you thought of it. If you could give me your honest opinion. Not many people have read it, and I wrote that mostly thinking about concept, not form, and I'm kind of wary about other people reading it."

Joan felt like she was in the middle of an essay question in an English lit exam, but she was so glad Jordan was really okay with it, that she didn't mind. "Well, I'm not much of an essay critic or whatever you might call it, but I liked it. It's the way you talked about a lost man as if it could be any person, really, instead of talking about your dad in a more specific way. It's a good concept." Joan was impressed with herself; she didn't know she could be so eloquent about literature.

Jordan nodded, as impressed as Joan. "Wow, not many people our age really understand what it's really about when they read it, but you hit the nail right in the head. Let me just ask you one question," she said. "How do you know the essay is about my dad?"

Joan felt her heart give a sort of stumble.

"Er… your mom told my mom about it. Last night. And my mom told me about it, too." That was the best lie she could come up with. Did it sound believable?

"My mom doesn't know about that essay," Jordan replied.

Busted.

"I… well, I mean…" Joan was really stammering now. "I just thought—"

"Adam told you, didn't he?" Jordan asked, knowingly. She didn't look too amused anymore. Joan mentally kicked herself, wondering how she could get her foot out of that one. Or in this case, Adam's foot.

"Just for the record, it was you who assumed that he had told me. I didn't actually say it," she said very quickly. "I never broke my promise."

Jordan sighed. "Well, he broke his."

Suddenly, Joan felt really bad. "Are you mad at him?"

"No, no," Jordan shook her head. "I couldn't get mad at him for something as silly as this."

There was a pause. Jordan looked thoughtful, almost sad. "Besides, I was going to tell you," she added, "Soon, because you had already read the essay. I might as well."

"Are you mad at me for reading it?" Joan asked warily. Jordan gave a sort of chuckle.

"No. Although you shouldn't have, I didn't plan on showing it to you. But I guess it's just fine."

Another awkward pause. Joan pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was… really moving," she said tentatively.

"Really?" Jordan asked, but she didn't seem to be really paying attention.

"It was good."

"Thanks."

They smiled at each other. Joan didn't know if they should drop the subject. She was hoping someone would show up and cut the tension. There were still about two minutes before the bell would ring.

"I don't even think about it anymore," Jordan began again, but she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Joan. "I try not to. There's no point. But anyway, the past is past, life goes on, I just don't dwell on it anymore because no good comes from dwelling on the past and the what if's." She smiled rather cheekily at Joan. Joan did not know what to make of her attitude. She did know one thing, though; if she were in Jordan's position, she wouldn't want people to feel sorry for her, either. Joan wasn't looking to be all-compassionate and schtuff; she just wanted Jordan to know that she could count on her, as a friend.

"You know, you can talk to me, if you want. You don't have to feel like I—"

"That's sweet, Joan," Jordan interrupted her. "But do you mind if we don't share this anymore? I don't think it would be too comfortable for either of us. It's not that I don't appreciate it. But you understand, don't you?"

Joan blinked. "Sure… well, you know, if you change your mind…"

"Thanks, Joan."

The bell rang at that moment, and Joan was grateful for the interruption. This had been much more awkward than when they had talked about Joan catching Jordan shoplifting.

"Well, I've got to go talk to my counsellor. I'll see you in second period," Jordan announced, flattening her skirt and grabbing her stuff. Joan got up as well and motioned to follow her into the building. However, there was someone blocking her way.

"Oh, dear God!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, dear Joan?"

Joan glared at cute boy/God, standing directly in front of her, hands in the pockets of His brown jacket. He grinned smugly.

"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Joan complained. She looked past God; Jordan, oblivious to the situation, had wandered into the school building with the rest of the students.

"Joan, I couldn't give you a heart attack even if I wanted to."

A snort escaped Joan, but she pretended to clear her throat to cover it up. "Before you can accuse me of being cynical, let's just move on to the reason for which you're here, besides the pleasure you take on annoying me this early on a school day in the middle of the week."

"You're a good girl, Joan. You should be proud of yourself," God said, smiling not unkindly.

Joan cocked an eyebrow. She wasn't entirely sure of what He was talking about.

"Jordan's relationship with you did not quite get off on the right foot. She probably thinks the worst thing that could've happened to her is that you found out about her being a kleptomaniac, when not even her own family knows about it."

Joan wanted to groan. It was one of _those lectures_. She should've known this had something to do with Jordan. But for some reason, that wasn't so annoying anymore.

"However, you didn't reject her because of that. In fact, you promised to keep her secret, and you even offered your support," God continued, leaning comfortably against the railing. "Obviously, this is something different. You figure you can't really know what she's going through, or how to help her about that. But you still offered your support, to be there, to listen, as a friend. That was enough."

"She doesn't want my support," Joan interjected.

"But she knows she can count on you."

Joan nodded. "Why didn't she want to tell me about her father?"

"Why would she want to badger you with her problems, when you probably have your own to deal with?"

"But she said she'd eventually tell me."

"This is the sort of thing that friends shouldn't keep from each other. She's not expecting you to take her problems away with the flick of a magic wand. She just wants you to understand. That's what friends do."

Joan sighed. Were she and Jordan real friends? She wasn't absolutely sure. But they could be, someday not too far away.

"I know it's difficult for you to be friends with Jordan, since you feel like she barged into your life and settled in so comfortably in no time," God said, knowing what she was thinking. "But she's lonely, and she could use some friends right now. It's not easy moving away from home and leaving your friends behind. You probably know what that's like, right?"

She nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know."

God nodded as well, smirking. "You better go inside. You'll be late for class."

Joan gave a dismissive wave. "What's the rush? The second bell hasn't rung yet."

Not surprisingly, the bell rang, as if on cue. Joan narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Him. He smirked again and patted her shoulder as He stepped past her.

"What would she do if her father came back?"

God spun on His heel and looked at Joan. Joan turned too, facing him.

"Interesting. Adam asked her that exact same question just a few days ago," He replied.

"What did she say to him?"

"That is not really what matters."

"You know the real answer, then, don't you?" Joan demanded.

God rolled His eyes. "She said she'd probably do nothing. She reckons she never wants to see him again."

"Really?" Joan was a bit surprised. Jordan couldn't really mean that, could she?

"She has her life now, they all do, her mother and sister," God continued. "They're really doing just fine without him, it's not like they need him anymore. If he came back, it would change everything. They don't need that sort of change; she says it would do no good. That they're better off not coming across him ever again."

"But that's not really how she feels," Joan added, sensing what He meant.

God didn't answer. He looked thoughtful, the depth in His eyes reflecting a sudden sorrow. Without another word, He turned around again and walked off. Joan watched Him go for a moment, before forcing herself back to the present, and into the school building.

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Correction: THIS one is officially the most annoying chapter I've had to write so far. Sorry this was so long.

In other news, I will officially go insane if I don't get my hands on Sum 41's "Chuck" right about now.

More new characters showing up next chapter. Hope you like them (and you're welcome to take them away. Seriously, they're driving me up the walls.) And my boyfriend Seth will be the next God. He's so excited (only he/God knows why).

Thanks for reading! See you next chapter!

In the darkNess


	9. They rebuilt the Coliseum in Arcadia Cit...

You'll have to excuse me, people. I had to take a break from writing this. I've been having the worst time of my life (since the last time I had the worst time of my life, of course), because I was writing about something that suddenly became very close to home. That's all I wanted to say, it's been a very emotional couple of months, but everything is (very slowly) going back to normal, and I can finally sit down and continue with this. (Parenthesis here, I want to give a huge thanks to my amazing friends/ beta readers, Mike and Anne, and my good friends, Jake, Joey, Harry, Kasz and Vero, for all the support they managed to give me even though we're miles apart. Million thanks, my friends. I love you.)

Disclaimer: Joan of Arcadia and all of its characters, places, etc, belong to Barbara Hall and CBS. Original characters, places and situations belong to me and the people upon which I have based these characters and places. The USA Freedom Corps is a federal service program, so it belongs to the goverment of the United States. And in the end, everything belongs to Almighty God.

What was playing on my cd players while writing this: Emilie Simon's "Flowers", Green Day's "Boulevard of broken dreams", Hotel Costes Volume 2, The Corrs's "Hide away", Pastora's "Un cuaderno lleno de cuentos", From Autumn to Ashes's "Autumn's Monologue", the song from the Kenzo Flower perfume commercial, Sum 41's "Slipping away", and Keane's "Eyes open" .

Chapter brought to you courtesy of Gabriel García Márquez, my new coconut-smelling aromatherapy candle crafted in a coconut shell, , the smell of pine tree and brand new Christmas tree decorations, tofu cream cheese, my mom's eggnog and fruitcake, the stress of the holiday season, Amor Amor by Cacharel, too many mochachinos in one day every day, a bowl of Cheerios and a packet of gum.

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The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Nine – They rebuilt the Coliseum in Arcadia City

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They had only been back to school for a week and a half, and Joan found herself already begging for winter break to come. Her mind was in low-usage mode during AP Chemistry one Thursday morning, barely focusing on what the teacher was saying, as she watched, hypnotized, the hands of the clock ticking away at snail speed. Adam didn't seem to be paying much attention, either, as he was doodling away on his notes, and Grace was muttering to Joan about something irrelevant, saying they had to do something about Jordan, who apparently had taken up a very bad habit of eating American junk food more than anything else.

"There's something really wrong with her. I mean, who trades an authentic Italian bologna sandwich for a freakin' Hot Pocket!"

"Grace, I thought you were all for free trade," Joan answered mindlessly, her eyes glazing over from staring unblinkingly at the clock on the wall.

"I would have to agree with Mr. Polk. Sweet Jordan's digestive system mustn't adapt to this sort of crap. It would be deadly for her," Friedman voiced in his ridiculous dramatic tone, obviously having boldly been eavesdropping on the conversation.

"It will be deadly for you too, you parasite, if you don't vanish this instant," Grace threatened, leaning forth on her seat. Friedman instinctively recoiled and turned back to his book. Luke looked over his shoulder at Grace, meeting her gaze for a brief moment before he turned to the front again, too.

"Why are you so interested in what Jordan does to her digestive system?" Joan asked, shutting her eyes hard; they had finally started stinging. It felt stupid to talk about an alleged eating disorder (according to Grace) when Jordan Canavaggio had so much bigger stuff going on in her life. Although it wasn't as if Joan could just slap Grace across the face and tell her about that stuff.

"Because it's disgusting and weird," Grace countered. "She's from Italy; that's like the world capital of gastronomic sensibility. And now she's going to transform herself into a Jack-in-the-box regular."

"She's a big girl, Grace. She should be able to put whatever she wants in her mouth and deal with the consequences. What's it to you?"

"Why do I have to have a reason for everything?"

"Why do you two always argue about such trivial things?" Adam interjected all of a sudden. He went back to doodling, and Grace and Joan looked at him, then at each other, and didn't speak again until the bell rang and they all went outside the building to catch some fresh air and eat on the grass.

"Mozzarella in carozza?" Erika offered in a phony Italian accent, as she joined the gang on one side of the stone steps. She held out a yummy-looking sandwich wrapped in a red cloth.

"And what is that?" Luke inquired, eyeing the sandwich with interest.

"Fried cheese sandwich."

"Oh. Guess the name really gives it something else," Luke said, looking rather disappointed.

"You're a scientist. You shouldn't judge something by its name," she countered.

"Good point," Luke said, and gladly took a bite. "Mmmm…" he went. "That's no regular fried cheese sandwich."

"Where'd you get it?" Grace asked, frowning.

"Jordan traded in for a bag of Lays," Erika replied with a smirk, taking a huge bite herself.

"I'm telling you, she must be stopped," Grace said seriously, with all the air of a plotting activist. Joan rolled her eyes and looked around. Where was Jordan, after all? She hadn't seen her all morning, and hadn't seen much of her either the last couple of days; at least not since Joan had blurted out she knew about Jordan's dad. She hoped Jordan wasn't avoiding her or something. Or maybe she was avoiding Grace.

"Hey, Jane, remember the guy from the picture on Jordan's nightstand?" Adam asked, and without expecting a reply, he pointed in the direction of the tree in the middle of the yard. She spotted the aforementioned Italian girl by the tree, talking to a couple of kids. One was a tall, dark-skinned boy with dreaded short hair, the other was a lanky girl with short, spiky blond hair, who looked a lot like Jordan herself. They were laughing about something, then Jordan threw her arms around the boy's neck and they hugged. Joan squinted. She couldn't see the boy's face very clearly.

Jordan was now walking their way, holding the boy's hand, while the spiky-haired girl walked beside them.

"What friends?" Joan asked, realizing she was the only one who didn't know who these two were.

"Hi, guys. I want you to meet the newest Arcadian abductees," Jordan announced. "This is my cousin Carolina," she said, gesturing to the girl. Up close, Carolina was definitively Jordan's relative. They had the same green eyes and the same complexion, but Carolina's hair was lighter, and she was slightly taller and leaner. Joan thought that she looked like a pre-pubescent Charlize Theron (in a good sense). She seemed nice, anyway. But if Jordan looked like a _Seventeen_ fall issue cover girl, Carolina was the one on _Shape_'s summer special. _And that's never a good thing,_ Joan thought.

"Hello," Carolina said, flashing a full-teeth smile. Her accent was obviously foreign, and her voice was clear and strong.

"Well, hello," Friedman mumbled in what was supposed to be a seductive tone. Erika and Grace thwapped him upside the head at once.

"And this is my boyfriend, Jeremy Dask," Jordan added, now turning to the boy. Joan saw that Adam was right. He _was_ the boy from the picture on Jordan's nightstand. And he was cute; he had bright hazel eyes that stood out against his dark skin. His short dreaded hair stood at the top of his head. He was tall, well-built and had a pearly-white smile that brightened his whole face.

"Hallo, everybody," he said in a very distinctive accent.

"Jeremy is from Jamaica, although he's been living in London for the past ten years," Jordan added, knowing that they were all wondering where his accent was from.

"Well, there's a weird combo. That would be like sending me off to the United States," Erika said. Then she pretended to slap her forehead in realization. "Oh, silly me! Here I am!" she exclaimed, and the foreigners laughed. "No offense to you guys, I just never thought they'd land me here. I feel lost in translation," Erika said, speaking to Joan, Grace, Luke, Adam and Friedman. They looked at each other, puzzled.

"So, Jeremy…" Joan began, once the international teasing had subsided and the bell had rang and everyone was going back inside the building.

"Oh, no, please, don't call me Jeremy. I beg you. That's what adults call me, and I don't like it because it sounds like they're reprimanding me," Jeremy Dask said. "You can call me Remy, Dask, J.D. or Jay. Pick."

"Wow, that's a lot of nicknames," Grace said. "Don't you get confused?"

"Yeah, but it's too late now. I should have thought it more thoroughly at the beginning."

"I call him Remy. It sounds artistic," Jordan said, grinning at him.

"I call him _sciocco_. It means _fool_ in Italian," Carolina piped in. Remy tousled her hair and she shoved him to one side.

"Children, behave," Grace scolded.

"Anyway," Joan interrupted, "how come you two arrived so late for school? We're already two weeks in."

"We like to draw attention to ourselves," Carolina replied.

"Yeah, otherwise we're not interesting at all," Remy added.

"That only applies to you."

They all walked into History class, except for Luke and Friedman, who had Biology. Luke has to pull Friedman by his sweatshirt because Friedman's eyes are glued on Carolina.

"No, seriously. I was actually visiting relatives in Kingston, and soaking up on a little Jamaican culture before coming here," Remy explained. "And then I accidentally slept in on my departure day and my plane left me so we had to reschedule, and now here I am," he added, smirking innocently. Joan saw Jordan rolling her eyes.

"From Jamaica to Arcadia. Dude, it's supposed to be the other way around," Grace pointed out. Joan couldn't help herself: when she thought of Jamaica the first thing that came to mind was Bob Marley and the shrunken head on the "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" movie. Just like when she met Erika and heard she was from Australia, she thought of surfing, kangaroos and koala bears.

_Evil koala bears in hats…_ Joan shivered. _Eech._

"What about you, Carolina?" Adam asked.

"Me? I'm just lazy. I convinced my mom that going eight hours back in time, plus jet lag, had really done something to my system. She let me stay home," the new girl narrated with a devious glint in her eye. "The only thing is that she actually took me to the doctor to see about that. But I amused myself by pretending I only spoke Italian and watching the nurses try to talk to me."

Grace cocked an eyebrow. "How charming," she scoffed.

"Which reminds me, can I stay over at your house, dear cousin? Now that my mom discovered my evil school-skipping plan, she's just unbearably strict," Carolina continued, now speaking to Jordan.

"Sure, Caro, but you think your mom, being unbearably strict at the moment, is going to grant you permission?"

"Whoever said anything about needing permission?"

They all continued talking, but lowered their voices as soon as Professor Graham walked through the door. Joan and Adam retreated quietly to their usual seats, at the very back of the classroom, where they could always chat or sleep without getting noticed by the teacher.

"Settle, children. There's a lot of history to look into, and there's more and more building up every day as we advance," the professor's voice boomed in the classroom, making the chattering subside. He opened the textbook on his desk and sorted through the pages. "We begin where we left off last class. The Spanish Inquisition, page 147, for those who don't recall or were just not paying attention." Students were mumbling as they got their own textbooks out. Mr. Graham sat down and put on his reading glasses, squinting at a sheet of paper. "Let's see… who wants to start reading… ah, here: Giordana Canavaggio," he read. Jordan, who seemed much focused on Remy at the moment, snapped her head around at the sound of her name and realized what was going on. She quickly landed herself on page 147 and began to read out loud.

Joan's mind tuned out the sound of Jordan's voice and everything around her. All the frustration of the past weeks had come back. She felt very dumb. All this time she had been worried that Jordan might have had a thing for Adam, and all this time she actually had a boyfriend. And Joan had to go and get all worked up. She had made a fool of herself in front of Adam. _Damn hormones…_

Why hadn't Jordan ever mentioned she had a boyfriend? She had mentioned Jeremy a couple of times, now that Joan recalled, but Jordan had never referred to him as her boyfriend. It would have definitively made things easier for Joan. _I'm a royal dumbass,_ she thought miserably, and dejectedly nestled her head on her arms.

"What's wrong, Jane?"

Joan glanced at Adam out of the corner of her eye; he looked at her, concerned.

"Oh, well, something's always wrong, so it gets confusing sometimes. Couldn't tell you for sure what it is this time," she muttered, staring up ahead. Jordan was done reading and now the teacher was rambling about this big event that took place a long time ago and that no one really cared about. Jordan rested her head on her crossed arms, in a manner similar to Joan's, and began whispering with Remy. Remy grinned and reached for Jordan's hand, fingers intertwined. They looked very cute together.

"Anything I can do to help?" Adam asked.

Sighing, Joan rolled her head to the right, so that now she was looking at Adam clearly, although sideways. She grinned tiredly.

"Not really. I'll have to deal with it myself. But thanks."

He grinned back at her. With an almost imperceptible movement, he now had her hand in his, and he gently slipped his fingers between hers, in a comforting way. Much like Remy had just done.

Joan couldn't tell what or why, the small gesture had made her face warm up and her head swoon. It was like electricity flowing from his fingers and through her arm, and the warmth from his smile. It felt so sweet; she wanted to stay like that forever. It was enough.

At that moment, she had a vision. Or at least it felt like a vision. Of her and Adam, and the last time he would see that smile, and feel that touch. She couldn't make sense of it, but it felt real. It was a frightening thought. She wanted to believe it was an illusion after all. But she couldn't tell…

Joan's eyes snapped open. The bell was ringing, startling her out of her reverie; she realized she had slumbered through nearly the entire period, her head still nestled on her arms, her hand still in Adam's. He had his head propped on his other arm, looking like he was in a trance. The others got up as the teacher announced the test next Thursday, eliciting some groans.

"Hey, Beavis and Butthead, time to go. Sober up," Grace said. Adam snapped out of his trance and let go of Joan's hand. Joan sat up and discreetly stared at the hand Adam had been holding; it now felt awkward and empty, as if it were missing a piece.

"Good thing the teacher didn't catch you sleeping. You looked so peaceful I just couldn't wake you up," Adam whispered. Joan gave him a grateful smile. They picked up their things and followed the others out of the classroom. It was still a long time until last period, and Joan was suddenly feeling a strange detachment; like she could barely perceive what was going on around her. Suddenly, all she could think about was that strange dream or vision, and what it might mean.

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The rest of the school day went by in a blink. As the final bell finished ringing, the gang walked gratefully into the open as students poured out around them.

"Oh, there's Troy. I'll be right back," Erika said, and she darted toward the street, where Troy was leaning coolly against an old rusted blue Volkswagen van. The others stayed behind and talked.

"What are those guys doing?" Remy asked. The others turned in the direction he was looking and saw a group of about seven people handing out flyers, all dressed like they had stepped right out of a protest in the 60's. They seemed to be preaching about the USA Freedom Corps, and they were very adamant as they forced flyers into people's hands, even when people said 'no' to them or even tried to run away.

Grace bent her head like a cat, pausing as if preparing for something. "They can sense indifference. If we don't try to run away, they won't chase us. Just be nonchalant," she warned in a low voice. The others snickered.

Before any of them could respond, one of the group was standing in their midst, waving a flyer in their faces. They all cringed. Grace huffed.

"We all have a commitment with our community and our country! If you volunteer today you can make a difference for many people's lives, including your own! There's always something you can do to help! Be part of the USA Freedom Corps today!" the girl said in a single breath, her voice loud and high. She had very straight long black hair with two braids inserted with colourful beads at each side of her face, and she wore a light blue robe and pants with white sandals.

"We hear you," Carolina mumbled, gesturing that her ears were in pain.

"Be a Freedom Corps volunteer today! We are all free to make a choice, and we must protect that freedom!" the girl continued in the same loud voice, now shoving a flyer into each pair of hands.

"Take the flyers, just take them, smile and walk away slowly," Grace instructed again, as each of them grabbed the flyer, smiled and moved away from the wired girl. "These people just can't take a hint."

Joan glanced down at the flyer and got as far as reading the headline, then she followed Adam and the others.

"You're a free woman, Joan! Embrace that freedom!"

Joan spun quickly, facing the girl. She was met by a cheesy grin.

"It's a freaking public spot and my friends are at earshot. What in your name do you think you're doing?!" Joan said through clenched teeth. She verified that the others had already walked away, then faced God again, nostrils flaring.

"Well, you've complained that I am too subtle for you, so I figured I should just try out some flashier ways to get your attention," God answered.

"Yeah, but this? We're outside a school, not a church. Oh, no..." Joan's eyes got very wide.

"What's wrong, Joan?"

"You're not going to ask me to join the USA Freedom Corps, are you?"

God shook Her head. "Why do you always go to extremes?"

"Because you make me that way," Joan retorted, a little more briskly than she meant. She was a bit cranky, because she wanted badly to go back to sleep with Adam's hand holding hers. She looked briefly at the others, who hadn't yet realized she had lagged behind. "What is it this time, then?"

God seemed suddenly more interested in handing out more flyers than answering Joan. "We all strive to do the right thing, even when sometimes it's so tempting to go the other way," She began, smiling at people who accepted a flyer from Her willingly.

"Why do you always say 'we'? You can't include yourself in the 'we' and the 'us'. You're God. You're supposed to be above all that," Joan started.

God gave her a look before continuing. "Sometimes we can barely tell what is right and what isn't, when it's our own interests that are in the middle. When there is something that we want but we have to make a choice to obtain it."

"I thought we agreed that you were being too subtle," Joan interrupted again.

Sighing exaggeratedly, God got rid of the last flyer and crossed Her arms. "I want you to make the right choice."

Joan bobbed her head up and down. "About what?"

"I'll give you an example, and this is just an example, not a real scenario. Let's say your mom gives you money for buying a book you were assigned in English Lit class. You're on your way to work, and you walk past this vintage clothing store, and you see the jacket you've been craving for a whole month. It's cheaper now, and you've got money in your pocket. Money that you're supposed to buy the book with. But it's a vintage jacket; tomorrow it might be gone and you might never see it again. What do you do?"

Joan blinked, slightly taken aback. God was being abnormally un-mysterious with this sort of explanation. "Yikes. Do I have to decide now?"

"Hey, it's up to you. You're the one who has to deal with the consequences."

"Well, it's a fake scenario. No real harm," Joan replied. She thought for a moment. "I'd buy the book. It's the right thing."

God gave her a sceptical look. "Would you really?"

"Ok, I don't know. Look, just get to the point already," Joan snapped. She was afraid the others would realize she was talking to this weird girl. God grinned, looking like She enjoyed getting Joan all flustered.

"When it comes to one's own interests, it's harder than you think. And you've been there, millions of times. You either contain yourself or you let yourself go. You can't always do what you think is right, but you have to know when you can't let yourself be impulsive. Even then, you're not always absolutely sure of what is the right thing to do. Sometimes we just fool ourselves."

Joan nodded. Yep, this sounded more like the God she knew. "Ok, you're back to your ambiguous speeches. That's good, but now I'm back to lost, too."

"I want you to be able to make the right choice when it comes to having your personal interests involved. When it comes to having fun or getting what you want, it's not simple at all," God replied.

"This isn't going to be like the time you had me throw that demented party, is it? Because I'm not up for losing my mind all over again in such a stupid way," Joan warned. That party was one of the worst ideas ever, and she hadn't figured out yet whether she should blame God or herself.

God shook Her head and grinned mysteriously. "It's a real test of character. Be bold."

Joan sighed tiredly. She hated tests of character. She glared at God. "What's with the outfit anyway? You look like Yoko Ono meets The Polyphonic Spree."

Unfazed, God nodded in the direction of the blue van on the street. "Your friends seem to be waiting for you."

"Yeah, they're wondering what I'm doing standing here talking to you. How embarrassing," Joan grumbled. God dedicated her a smile.

"Be free, Joan. As a human being, you have a right to be free. Embrace it."

Joan rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "I'd like to be free of you," she muttered. She promptly joined the others around the beat-up blue van.

"What were you doing back there? Did that girl actually talked you into joining the Freedom Corps?" Luke asked jokingly.

"Well, she was so disgustingly sweet, I didn't have the heart to cut her off and leave," Joan lied.

"I didn't know Freedom Corps volunteers dressed up like choir people and harassed teenagers outside schools," Troy commented.

"Where'd you get the van?" Joan asked. The others laughed and shook theirs heads. Obviously they already heard the story.

Troy patted the side sliding door and grinned proudly. "The Blue-natic, mate, is one of the best deals I've ever done. Got it for $3000 split into eight payments, no interests charged. Engine's good, plenty of room, will be running good for another half decade. It's a classic; I've always wanted a van like this."

"Someone's been watching too much 'That 70's Show'," Grace muttered. The others laughed again.

"Hey, don't mess with the Blue-natic," Troy warned jokingly.

"Hey, Joan, guess what else Troy got," Erika said, smiling. Troy snapped his fingers and winked, and immediately produced two rectangular pieces of card-board with letters stamped on them. She looked closely: they looked like tickets to a concert. Her mouth fell open.

"Foo Fighters concert. The Edge Arena, Blakefield, two weeks from now. Got enough tickets for everyone and even a couple extra. And here's yours," Troy said, extending one of the tickets to her. "I should try to sell the pair I've got left. I could make some extra cash. Got to start paying for this baby somehow." He patted the van again.

Joan held the ticket in her hand, looking at it in shock and complete disbelief. "H-ho… h-how…?" she choked out. Her friends laughed.

"Well, they're expecting a big crowd, and tickets haven't even gone on sale in Arcadia. So I got in touch with a pair of contacts. One of the organizers, and the chief editor from a music magazine covering the event," Troy replied. "Turns out I can be quite a persuasive guy."

"I'm in awe. I bow to you, grand master Troy," Joan added, and she pretended to curtsy. Troy pretended modesty.

"It's all planned out too. We pile into the Blue-natic and I drive you guys to and from the concert. Safe and sound."

"So what do you say? Are you in, Joan Girardi?" Carolina asked.

Joan pondered for a moment. She wanted to go, that much was pretty obvious. She flashbacked to two days ago, when she had caught up with Adam on his way home and they first saw the poster announcing the concert. Adam had said he wanted to go, and that he would like Joan to go too, with him. This was her perfect opportunity to be with him, especially since she had blown the chance of going with him to the last big concert in Arcadia. And that had been a huge drag.

She fingered the ticket in her hand. She wanted to say yes, but she still had to ask her parents. And so did Luke; even so, he was grinning as if he already had their permission.

Joan hesitated before smiling and nodding. "I'm in, alright."

"You think mom and dad will let us go?" Luke asked Joan as they walked toward the bus stop. The gang had split for the day because everyone had things to do. Troy and Erika drove away in the Blue-natic, and Joan had to wonder how that thing actually stayed in one piece, and if she would actually dare riding for two hours to the concert in that thing.

"I don't know, maybe," she replied absent-mindedly. She actually was thinking her parents would be very tough to convince. Given the situation, with the concert being on a week day and two hours drive away to the next town, it looked bleak for her and Luke. Considering also that her parents didn't know Troy at all, it would most likely pose another negative. But they still had to ask, and they would have to play all their cards. So Joan and Luke had a lot of planning to do.

"You let me do the talking, okay?" Joan advised. She bit on her fingernail and changed her mind. "No, maybe you should do the talking. You're the geeky, good one. I sense they trust you more than me."

"You sense correctly. And who are you calling geeky?"

"Just don't screw this up."

"Fine," Luke answered. Then he sighed. "I can't believe we have free tickets. I'm not the biggest fan of the Foo Fighters, but they're cool, and it would be awesome to see them live."

"Yeah, and I still can't believe I'm going to the concert of one of my favorite bands, and I'm being accompanied by my little brother," Joan said. "Maybe that's a pro for us, the fact that we're going together. I just hope mom and dad will be merciful."

"Yeah, it's a real test of character when it comes to asking them for permission. But don't worry, I'll be bold. This is something we both really want, right?" Luke said.

Joan gave him an astonished look. That sounded like something God had just been telling her earlier. Was this the situation She had been referring to?

Out of curiosity, she looked back to the school grounds and the mob of students hanging around the tree in the middle. The Freedom Corps promoters were still there. And God was still there, too; She had gotten more flyers and was back to handing them out. As Joan reached the bus stop, her eyes met God's and they stared at each other for a moment, a silent understanding between the two. The bus pulled into the curb, and Joan climbed onto the bus behind Luke and they sat down together. The bus drove off, and Joan looked out the window toward the school, but God was already out of sight.

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Again, sorry for the lateness. It's been a hectic past month, and with the holidays upon us it hasn't gotten any better. I'll be glad when all of this is over, and I can go back to normal.

I absolutely love the last few episodes of the series, especially the characters of Friedman (he's so dorky, inappropriate and annoying, but he's actually a hopeless romantic, and it's sweet to see how perseverant he can be when it comes to a girl) and Judith (but I have a sneaky friend, a.k.a Azure057, who already spoiled next episode for me and my devotion to one of those characters, a.k.a Judith. It will be a traumatizing event this week when I actually find out with my very own eyes Judith's fate, but at least it won't be a huge blow. I'll miss Judith, she was cool, even though at first I found her annoying and mean, she changed).

On my very short vacation I will try to get much more done more quickly (I really don't want to quit this story), but be patient. I have a life too.

Mike: oookay, yeah, we believe you.

Happy holidays, everyone!

In the darkness


	10. A series of unfortunate events

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE!! Hope everyone enjoys the holidays, and I wish everyone a Happy New Year as well (in case I don't check back with a new chapter in time for New Year 's Eve, which will probably happen, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed).

Thank God for Holiday break, I have much more time now to dedicate to this fic, and I feel like I'm on a roll. Now I'm including a nice little "feature" (per suggestion of Mike Shapiro a.k.a The Original Chemist), called Chapter Soundtrack. I include all of the major songs that inspired the respective chapter, and not just every single song that I was listening to while writing. Don't know what the point is, and I'm sure none of you care much, but I love music, so it fits, in which case I'll just go ahead and do it.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to God, but CBS and Barbara Hall like to say the own Joan of Arcadia, and I like to say I own everything else in this fic, including plot lines, dialogues, original characters, places and objects.

Chapter Soundtrack: "Jane" by Barenaked Ladies, "Gold in them hills" by Chris Martin and Ron Sexsmith, "No rain" by Blind Melon, "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John, "The remedy (I won't worry)" by Jason Mraz, "Hide away" by The Corrs, "Fallen" by Sarah McLachlan, and "Daughters" by John Mayer.

Author's note: yes, the chapter title was taken from that new movie with Jim Carrey. (I want to see it!! It looks brilliant!!) But of course, the chapter doesn't actually have anything to do with the movie.

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The Beginning of the End

-by The Chemist and his associate

Chapter Ten – A series of unfortunate events

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"Absolutely not."

Joan's mouth fell open, aghast at the finality in Will's tone of voice. She hadn't even gotten the chance to perform her ultimate puppy-dog look on him, and he was already stating a decision. And without even thinking about it that thoroughly.

It was still Thursday, 9 p.m., and Joan and Luke had waited until their father got home, to sit him and their mother in the kitchen and tell them about the concert. They had prepared tea and served a plate of Oreo cookies for them, to make the sweet-talking even more pleasant. They had worked on what they would say, how they would say it, and how to react if they could see it wasn't really going the way they wanted. They had a plan B and all the way to a plan H; one of those, any which, had to do the trick, eventually.

They hadn't even executed plan A to its completeness, when already Joan could see it would be a very long night.

"It's a week night, first of all," Will continued, just as Joan and Luke each opened their mouths to say something. "Those concerts end very late, and you still would have another two-hour trip to come back. It's not safe. Who is driving, anyway?" The kids could see he was getting slightly upset, which would lead to stubbornness, which meant it would be very difficult to negotiate with him. Meanwhile, Helen was quiet and distant, as if she were thinking about it.

"His name is Troy Nevin," Joan interjected. "He's 20, and he's a good, responsible driver, because he's been driving already for more than four years, and he's never had a ticket." That was a half-truth. Troy had been driving for more than four years already, but he had only been driving in the U.S. for a month. Apparently he used to get tickets all the time in Melbourne, because he got this thing for racing as soon as he got his license at the age of sixteen. But that was in Australia; traffic laws were different. He promised he was much better now, and he hadn't received a ticket in the U.S. Yet.

"And do I know this Troy Nevin?" Will asked.

"Not yet, but you can meet him whenever you want," Joan offered. That was plan B; bringing Troy into the house for a formal introduction. Somehow she had the feeling that wasn't the best idea, but Troy couldn't be so dumb as to tell the truth about his driving skills. Joan did rehearse with him, after all.

"Isn't Troy Nevin the weird kid who wanders around the school occasionally even though he doesn't actually go there?" Helen said, finally coming out of her trance.

"Mom, he did that once, and he was looking for Erika," Joan said through gritted teeth. "And he's not weird, he's just… different. He's from Australia, you know."

"Good driver or not, Blakefield is two hours away, and it's not the safest highway, especially not at night," Will responded. "Anyone can get tired after driving two hours to another town, standing up for another three or four hours in a concert, then having to drive back for another two hours at one in the morning."

"Dad, it's not as if we didn't foresee that," Luke said, trying not to seem nervous as Will redirected his stern gaze onto him. "Troy said he was going to get a good sleep before the concert, to ensure he'd be wide awake. And he and Erika are going to be taking turns driving, so that they keep fresh. "

"And do we know this Erika? Why do you keep mentioning people I don't know?" Will then asked. Joan bowed her head. This wasn't going well at all.

"Erika Weston is a student in Joan's class. She's Troy's girlfriend, and she's also from Australia," Helen replied. "What I would like to know is how long has Erika been driving, in the U.S.?"

Joan blanched. That was one question she had no answer to. "I can tell you she's been driving since she was fifteen, and she got her license when she turned sixteen. And she's never had a ticket either."

"But she's been driving in the U.S. for like, what, two weeks?" Will said, and then he shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to hear any more. This is a very bad idea. I don't want my kids getting caught in the middle of a mosh pit riot in a town two hours away from me. And it's not that I don't trust these other two kids that will be driving, even though I don't; it's just that there are a lot of drunks out there, with licenses and cars, whom I don't trust on the same road as my children and other people's children. And finally, I don't want to be up until four in the morning wondering if you'll get home safely, and I'm sure neither does Helen. So my answer is no."

Joan, unable to utter a word after hearing that statement, hovered over her chair and then slumped down in defeat. Luke crossed his arms and sniffed in contempt, but didn't say anything either.

"Helen, is there anything you would like to add?" Will asked his wife.

Helen sighed deeply, as if dreading having to speak her mind. She leaned back in her chair and looked at her two children in turn. "I hope you kids understand that we're not doing this because we want to be the bad guys. Of course I would love to have you go to a concert; I used to love concerts myself. And if that concert were here in Arcadia, we would let you go, no questions asked. Well, not _this_ many questions asked," she corrected with a chuckle. "But it's not here in Arcadia, and your father and I, as responsible parents, can't allow ourselves to let you go if we don't feel it's safe. And we don't."

"So, you're saying," Joan began," that Jordan's mom, and Adam's dad, and Grace's parents, and the parents of all our other friends who _are_ going to the concert, are reckless and irresponsible?"

Helen fixed Joan with her gaze. "I don't believe I care much for what other parents do or how they decide to handle this situation. I'm talking about us. Maybe the other parents have a different opinion, but I don't go by popular opinion. I go by what I think and what I feel. I feel this isn't safe, and I don't want you two to go. I'm sorry, kids, but I won't allow it. And that's that."

And she got up from her chair and put her mug in the sink before leaving the room. She seemed unnerved. Joan felt bad; she hadn't meant to upset her mother. Although she forgot about that almost instantly, and her remorse was replaced with disappointment and a bit of anger. She slumped over the table like she always did when feeling down. They had worked so hard on their argument, and it had been completely fruitless.

Will finished his tea in one big swig and he put his mug in the sink, too. He turned to his two youngest offspring and sighed. "I know it seems unfair, but you wouldn't understand yet, because you're not parents. One day you will, and you will feel the same. I'm sorry kids, but for now, we make the calls," he finished in a very authoritative tone. But of course, he wasn't really sorry, because he made the calls, _no questions asked_. He patted Luke on the back and left the room.

"I'll never be a parent, just so I don't have to say things like that. It's very annoying," Joan said, her voice muffled by the sleeves of her sweater. Luke leaned onto the counter, thoughtfully.

"I guess we're moving onto plan C," he said.

Joan snorted. "I can't wait," she replied sarcastically.

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Plan C was bringing breakfast to their parents' bed. But Friday mornings were so hectic all the time, as much as any other morning of the week, that it ended up being regular breakfast in the kitchen table ("And besides," Joan had stated, "we don't know what we might find in there." And they both got a very ugly picture that no kid wants to get about their parents). The two had to wake up extra early to get ready for school and still have time to go downstairs and prepare the meal before Will or Helen could get downstairs and do it themselves. Joan and Luke turned out to be quite uncoordinated when it came to working together. They kept crashing into each other and knocking things out of each other's hands. They needed to hurry: Luke was in charge of setting the table and making the coffee, while Joan was in charge of the omelet. It definitively went better than the bleu cheese sticks fiasco of earlier that week, but it was a fiasco anyway. By the time Will and Helen rushed downstairs at the sound of the smoke detectors beeping like crazy ("Twice in one week, that's a new record," Helen stated later, breathing to keep calm as she waved the firemen off), the toast was burnt, the omelet had somehow ended up on the floor, and Joan was mopping orange juice from the floor. Also, Luke had somehow managed to forget putting a filter on the coffee maker, which explained why the coffee tasted so bad. Will and Helen left the house fuming, hungry and caffeine-less.

"You know the drill," Helen had said, pointing a finger at Joan before leaving.

Joan felt horrible. Things couldn't have possible gone worse. And now, she still had to finish mopping and cleaning up the omelet on the floor, and she was running late for school. Plus, she was hungry and sleepy. And she still couldn't go to the concert.

She stared at the burnt omelet on the kitchen floor. "Now I'm really never cooking again," she stated, plopping down on a chair.

"Amen," Kevin said, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. Joan threw a towel at him. He grabbed a muffin and wished them better luck before leaving.

Luke emptied the coffee pot in the sink. "Guess this means we're on plan D now," he asked.

------------------------

By Saturday morning, Luke and Joan were already on plans G and H. Relieving themselves from their rights, and offering to do whatever their parents wanted and for as long as they wanted. Plan D had been cleaning up the house after school on Friday, which had gone rather well, until they realized they had washed all the windows with toilet cleanser, giving the whole house a very distinct, public bathroom aroma. Plan E had been doing the laundry, but Luke had to carry that one out mostly on his own, since Joan had a very bad past experience with the washing machine still fresh in her memory; Luke's wasn't very different, however, and it was actually a miracle he didn't lose any limbs. And everyone in the house would be wearing stiff, static-charged clothes until the next laundry day.

Plan F was the only one they had been able to carry out successfully; doing the dishes after every meal, even if it was someone else's turn. It went very well (although Joan had yet to break a plate). Even so, it had no effect on their parents, no matter how well they did it. It was a stupid plan anyway, Joan thought miserably as she put the silverware in the dishwasher. All the plans were, but they were worth a shot. Every time Joan shelved the squeaky-clean china and flashed her puppy-dog face at Helen, she could feel her mother cracking quietly, ready to break. It was a very effective puppy-dog face, after all.

In the end, plans G and H were a spectacular failure. Will sat them down and gave them a whole speech about when he was a teenager and his father told him 'no', it was 'no' and he accepted it that way, because his father knew best and he, Will, had to abide by his father's rules. He went on to tell stories about horrible highway accidents that seemed to always take place at two in the morning, and always involved a teenager coming back from a party. He included the usual "this is for your own good" and "I don't want to be the bad guy" and "when you become parents yourselves, you will understand" arguments. Helen sat there too, much like she had done two nights ago, just thinking and listening. Only this time, Joan made sure she was performing the puppy-dog look with feeling, and that Helen could see it clearly at all times from where she was sitting.

But Helen didn't say anything at all. She just sighed and left the room when her husband was done.

"I'm sorry, kids," Will added in the end.

_Sorry, yeah_, Joan thought unhappily, slumping over the table in her usual depressed fashion. _I'm sorry too._

------------------------

"Did you try bringing their breakfast to bed?"

"Yes."

"Cleaning up the house?"

"Yes."

"Promising that you wouldn't ask for any money or borrow the car for as long as they wanted?"

"Yes."

"Offering yourself as their slave?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Joan said, her face screwed up with boredom and deception. "The only thing I haven't tried is handing them my poor itty bitty heart served in a silver platter."

"Wow," Adam shook his head, befuddled. "Your parents really like to play hard to get."

"They're not hard to get, they're unreachable," Joan corrected him, and began to sort through a pile of books, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. It was still Saturday, and as soon as she had recovered from The Will Girardi "When I Was Young" Speech, she had to rush to work. Adam had decided to swing by the bookstore to find out how the last resort had worked out for her and Luke. Joan was glad Sammy was off running errands at the moment, or he would've been pushing her around to at least pretend to work. "To top it off, I did _all_ those things to attempt getting some mercy, but I got nothing. And now I'm tired and I've developed a real phobia of cooking." She put the books down and sighed. "Maybe I should just give up. I really don't think they'll ever let me go, and all this trying to convince them otherwise is making me even more miserable."

"Cha, Jane, don't give up so easily," Adam replied. He thought for a moment. "Hey, maybe_ I_ can convince your mom. You know I'm one of her best students and she's always been great with me. Maybe I can talk her into letting you go."

"I don't know," Joan said unconvinced. "I mean, she trusts you and all, but I don't think she'd change her mind like that. Not even for you."

Adam opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by another voice in the store.

"Young lady, I've been standing in that aisle for over ten minutes, and you haven't come out from behind that counter, nor stopped gossiping with this boy long enough to at least see if I'm still here and still alive."

Joan turned to look at the elder gentleman who came up to the counter. He was a short, pot-bellied man with very pale skin and brownish blotches on the top of his bald head. He walked with a cane and spoke with a German edge on his tone, which Joan thought made him sound like he was always angry. And he _was_ legitimately grumpy most of the time, but Joan had already gotten quite used to it.

"I can see you _are_ alive, Mr. Heiss," Joan said, trying to sound serious. "Surprisingly, and unfortunately," she mumbled under her breath.

Mr. Heiss continued ranting. "Don't be smug, _mädchen_. I don't think you even noticed when I came in. I think I could have walked out that door with a heap of books unpaid for, or be rolling on the floor having a seizure, and you won't have noticed either. I think I'm quite right when I say that in most respectable bookstores, the clerk would have the decency to check up on her customers every once in a while and see if they need any help. Now what does that say about you?" He pointed his metal cane at her accusingly.

"Mr. Heiss, do you actually need any help?" Joan asked in her most patient voice.

"No," Mr. Heiss replied, and Joan rolled her eyes in exasperation. "But you would know that already if you had checked up on me by now, like you're supposed to."

"Alright, I promise that in ten minutes, I'll go check up on you. Now you can go back to whatever you were doing," Joan said, feeling like she was dealing with a six-year-old. Mr. Heiss was grumbling something in German under his breath as he slowly made his way back into one of the aisles.

Adam gave Joan a weird grin. "Cha, Jane, I know you're upset about this whole concert mess, but you didn't have to take your frustration out on a poor senior citizen," he said, half-chuckling. Joan shook her head.

"That guy could get on a saint's nerves. He comes in twice every week and walks around, he takes books out of the shelves and then puts them in the wrong shelf until he's got the whole place rearranged, and he never buys anything. I think he only comes here to wait until I'm in a bad mood and then piss me off further," she began ranting herself. "There's a whole city full of stores and shops, and he picks this one as his claims department."

"Aw, maybe he's lonely," Adam suggested.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised. He probably scared his family away," Joan said spitefully. She caught Adam's stare and realized how mean she had just managed to sound like, and wished she hadn't said that at all. "Sorry. Didn't mean to come across as a bitch. It's just, you're right, it's this whole concert mess, it's got me all torched."

"I see."

"I'll get over it. Hey, it's not the end of the world. I don't know why I make such a big fuss. I didn't want to go that bad," she added, waving it off.

Adam cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Didn't want to go that bad? So, is that why you were willing to give up asking for money and offering yourself as your parents' slave?"

Joan pouted. "Alright! I am dying to go! I was just pretending I didn't to see if the disappointment would be easier and faster to overcome. Obviously not," she confessed, and leaned heavily on the counter with a sad look. "I just really wanted to go, it was so perfect. Free tickets and a cool, adventurous trip to the venue. And I would get to hang out with you guys. After all, I didn't get to go to that White Stripes concert with you. I wanted to make it up to you once and for all."

Adam patted her hand. "I know."

"Cripes! I'm just so bummed out," Joan continued. "You know, maybe it has something to do with both Luke and I wanting to go. I bet it he weren't actually invited along, and it was just me asking for permission for myself, they would be more likely to let me go. But nooooo. My little brother had to come into the picture and mess things up," she said, again sounding awfully spiteful.

"Aw, come on, give your brother a break. I don't think it's actually because of him that your parents are not letting you go," Adam countered.

"You don't know that; we don't really understand how the parental mind works. But I'm guessing it's pretty screwed up and evil."

"Maybe it's too soon to tell. The concert is still a week and a half away. They might change their minds," Adam said. Joan seriously doubted it. Will Girardi did not become benevolent overnight. And Helen seemed to have developed some sort of immunity to the mighty potent puppy-dog face.

"Hey, you never know. Keep your hopes up," Adam told her, giving her a reassuring smile. She smiled back. If only she had the courage, or lacked the judgment, she wouldn't care what her parents said and go to the concert anyway, just to be with Adam. He was probably the only reason why she would ever risk being grounded until old age.

The sweet moment was interrupted by a sickening thudding noise, which Joan recognized as the very disturbing sound of many books falling onto the carpeted floor. She groaned and counted to ten, walking out from behind the counter, as she and Adam both walked toward the source of the noise. Mr. Heiss stood there, holding a large black volume in one hand and his cane in the other, while a heap of books lay scattered around his feet.

"Mr. Heiss, what were you trying to do?" Joan asked as calmly as possible. The elder man gave her a disapproving look.

"This is what it takes to get you to come check up on me?"

Joan was practically expelling smoke through her ears. Adam didn't know what to do to keep from laughing out loud.

------------------------

"Do you think we were too tough on them?" Helen asked quietly, parting the curtain of the kitchen window. She and Will were watching Joan coming back from work, a murderous look on her face. Adam was with her, and they sat on the bench in the backyard to talk, Joan gesturing as if she was ready to strangle an imaginary someone in front of her.

"Tough? We couldn't have been softer. If we had been tough, we would've grounded them for merely thinking about going to the concert," Will replied. "We were nice."

"I know," Helen said, although her voice revealed otherwise. "And to think Joan was probably certain that her trademark puppy-dog look would work on me." She chuckled.

"They have to learn, they can't always get everything they want," Will pointed out. "Hopefully they'll realize that soon. Otherwise I don't think we'll be able to stand another round of their kiss-up tactics."

"Yes, the fire department is going to sue us if they get another false alarm," Helen joked.

------------------------

"What are you thinking?"

Adam glanced at Joan beside her and leaned back. He had been immersed in his thoughts that he had forgotten where he was, and that Joan's parents were probably still watching them from the kitchen window.

"I was thinking," he began slowly, still thoughtful. He looked straight into Joan's eyes. "If you're not going to the concert, then I'm not going either."

Joan's eyes widened. "Adam, no! Why do you do this to me?" she blurted out. "I want you to go. I don't want you to miss it out just because of me! Just go, and I'll be fine. I'll deal with it. It's really not the end of the world. But I will hate you if you don't go because of me."

She crossed her arms and frowned. Adam had to smile in amusement at her little outburst.

"Jane, it's not just because of that. I just, I don't want to go if you can't go," he replied. "I wanted to go with you."

Joan stopped frowning and suddenly looked sad. "But I thought you loved the Foo Fighters," she said.

"I know. But it just wouldn't be the same without you," Adam answered, reaching out to take her hand. Joan smiled sadly. She couldn't believe he was being so sweet. She could've glomped him in the spot, if it weren't because she knew her parents were still watching. Her smile faded and she frowned again.

"I would gladly defy them and go to the concert. No matter what happened, I would walk out that night, right in front of them, and go to Blakefield with you guys," she said, her voice deadly serious. That would be crazy, but she would do it, just for Adam. Just like he was willing to give up his chance to go to the concert just for her.

Adam half-chuckled. "But you wouldn't really do that, would you?"

Joan took a deep breath. She was looking over across the hedges surrounding her house, and into the backyard of the neighboring house; below the tall willow trees was a man in a jumpsuit, whom she remembered meeting last week. God stopped raking among the ferns and gave her a discreet, meaningful look. Joan sighed and looked at Adam.

"No," she said to him. "It wouldn't be right."

------------------------

Thanks to my good pal Jake for his very first review. I'm so glad you like the fic (and I'm pleased to tell you that your character will be getting his grand entrance sooner than you expect). Hope you keep checking back.

You're all probably wondering why I talk so much about that damn puppy-dog look. That is my trademark puppy-dog look, the one I've been writing about. According to my boyfriend Seth, it's "not going to work anymore. I'm immune to it. Hah!". Well, that's him. As far as I know, no one else has developed an immunity to the _moste potente_ puppy-dog look. Buahahah! The only downside to it is that, according to my mom, I look like a five-year-old brat every time I do it. Mnegh, she's just jealous.

Once again, Merry Christmas to everybody. Hope you have a wonderful time.

Best wishes and much love. Yours truly.

In the darkness


	11. Be quiet and drive

Wow, I'm back, sooner than expected, with a new chapter for the lot of you. I may be stretching this subject a bit too much, but Mike's been pushing me to give it depth before it loses the intended meaning. It's supposed to deliver a message, after all, like everything in the original TV series, and this fic as well. It's building up for future chapters, too. Hope you like it.

Author's note:** Jane and Adam** wanted me to post the next chapter before New Year, so I thought I would comply. I'm all for pleasing my faithful readers. Jane and Adam, thank you for sticking around.

Disclaimer: Joan of Arcadia and all its related characters, places, etc, belong to Barbara Hall and CBS. The Foo Fighters belong to their record company. Original characters, places and plotlines belong to me.

This chapter brought to you by Diet 7UP, Tylenol Cold, Honey Bunches of Oats, November/ December issue of AdBusters, "The Solitaire Mystery" by Jostein Gaarder, my very own home-made eggnog, and my latest favourite album: "Good news for people who love bad news" by the amazing Modest Mouse.

Chapter Soundtrack: "Times like these" by Foo Fighters, "Blackbird" by The Beatles, "Be quiet and drive" by Deftones, "Freak out" by Avril Lavigne, "I'm not the one" by Sum 41, "Collide" by Jars of Clay, "Local god" by Everclear, "Humdrum" by The Corrs, "The world at large" by Modest Mouse, "Flying foxes" by Moby.

------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by La Gioconda

Chapter Eleven – Be quiet and drive

------------------------

The following week and a half went smooth. Joan and Luke didn't try any more stunts with their parents, although they remained hopeful and continued to be polite and diligent in case Will and Helen suddenly believed their children had undergone a serious transformation of character.

Joan hung out a lot with the new gang. The newbies continuously told hilarious, crazy stories about their previous schools and hometowns, and what they used to do and with whom. Then Grace and Adam would tell some really strange, funny stories about their life in Arcadia, and some amusing ones about what it has been like since Joan had come along, about her weird antics and unusual hobbies.

"We have, as of yet, to figure out what exactly she's been smoking," Grace stated, earning a deadly glare from Joan.

Joan could also tell that the others were trying not to talk about the concert while they were around her or Luke. They probably felt bad that Joan and Luke weren't going, and decided it was inconsiderate to bring the subject up. However, someone eventually mentioned it briefly, which led to Adam confessing that he wasn't going after all, which also led to a whole discussion: Troy pretended to be mad just to taunt Adam, claiming to have worked very hard to get those free tickets; Jordan, Carolina and Erika were as scandalized as they had been when Joan and Luke announced they were denied permission, saying that it was going to be a bummer without the three of them; Remy told Adam it was not the brightest thing to do, rejecting a free ticket for the Foo Fighters, but in the end he declared sincerely that he would probably do the same thing for Jordan; and Joan was still a bit sad, because the whole situation made her feel guilty.

The day right before the concert, the lunch bell rang, and Joan walked out of the Economics classroom and met up with Adam and Jordan, who were just coming out of art. The two confessed that they had just been talking to Helen, begging her to reconsider about Joan going to the concert.

"Oh my God, how could you? The last thing I need is badgering my mom with any more of this concert hoopla. She's going to think I'm plotting something with you guys!" Joan exclaimed, slightly horrified, but then paused. "What did she say?"

Adam and Jordan looked at each other and sighed in disappointment. "Sorry, Joan. Doesn't look like she's changing her mind at all," Jordan said.

"It was worth a shot," Adam added, shrugging.

"Yeah, unless she thinks I put you guys up to it," Joan groaned. Just when she thought she was over the whole concert thing, these guys had to bring it up. She was only beginning to deal with the disillusion. It was starting to feel like the end of the world after all.

They walked into the cafeteria and got some food in their trays before heading to their usual table. They found the rest of the gang, hunched over the table, heads together, listening to Luke, who was talking in whispers. Luke caught sight of Joan, Adam and Jordan and immediately stopped mid-sentence. The others followed his lead and sat back in their chairs, pretending normalcy.

"What's going on?" Joan asked right away, trying to sound clueless. She didn't like the look of that whispered conversation, much less the way it had abruptly been interrupted when she approached.

"Luke was just spewing some very boring science-related polysyllabic words, and we were just politely pretending to be interested," Erika said. Luke glared at her.

"Okay," Joan replied as she and the others sat down, and that was the last thing that was said about the subject. They began talking about completely unrelated things. Joan looked at Luke suspiciously, but her brother never looked at her, not even when they spoke directly to each other. It was as if he were avoiding deliberately meeting her eyes.

------------------------

Before last period, Joan was coming back from her locker, and found her friends once again huddled together, whispering, and once again it was Luke who was doing most of the whispering. Troy had materialized out of nowhere and was standing with the group as well, along with Adam and Jordan. When Joan was almost within earshot, Friedman saw her and quickly yanked Luke away, and the pair disappeared around the corner of the hallway. The others pretended to have been talking casually. Joan didn't even bother asking. She just ignored them and made her way to Social Studies. She sat in class with Adam, Grace, Jordan, Remy, Caro and Erika, but none of them said a word, causing the room to be eerily quiet. Even the teacher pointed out it was a very suspicious silence.

When the final bell rung, Joan managed to get outside quite fast. She sat on the entrance steps, waiting for the others to catch up. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Grace and Jordan coming her way, talking to each other. They looked like they were arguing in hushed voices, but when they realized Joan was looking at them, they shushed each other quiet and walked over to her nonchalantly. Each sat at either side of Joan and looked at her, but neither said anything. Joan finally lost her grip.

"I feel like I'm in a freaking pantomime, and you're all lousy actors, so just cut the crap," she blurted angrily.

Jordan looked like she had just been slapped, then she pouted. "Ouch," she mumbled. Grace rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I admit, we suck at this show," she said. Jordan frowned, visibly offended at being called a bad actress. "But we're not the ones who put it together."

"We're letting you in on what's going on because we think that's how it should be," Jordan continued. Joan had a feeling she knew what it was. She looked at Grace for the answer.

"Luke is planning on sneaking out of his house tomorrow night, and coming with us to the concert," Grace said bluntly.

Yes, it was exactly what Joan had suspected. She had actually considered the possibility of her brother plotting something like that. But she never actually thought he'd do it; or that he'd even know how to, for that matter. She shook her head. "What an idiot," she muttered.

"He made us all swear we wouldn't tell you, but we thought you should know," Jordan explained. "We tried to talk him out of it, but—"

"He's unbearably pig-headed," Grace interjected.

"He's got his mind quite well set on it," Jordan finished, expressing herself more delicately than Grace. Joan sighed.

"I think most of us would've expected _you_ to be the one plotting to sneak out. Not Luke," Grace added.

"And why s it so important that you tell me about it?" she asked, getting up. If Luke wanted to be stupid and get in trouble, he could go ahead and get in stupid trouble on his own. Why drag her into it? Jordan and Grace got up as well, following Joan down the sidewalk.

"You're his sister. You know what's best for him, more than us. Maybe you can convince him not to do it. He'll probably listen to you," Jordan said. Joan snorted.

"You said it yourself: I'm his sister. Whatever makes you think he'll listen to me at all?"

"You live with your parents, too, don't you? You're the one that can remind him what your mom and dad will do to him if he does something like this," Grace clarified.

"What's it to you anyway, Grace? I thought Luke got on your nerves. Why are you so worried about what will happen to him?" Joan asked. Grace didn't answer, but rolled her eyes in a fitting response. Joan kept walking. "If he's really being as headstrong as you say, he'll think I'm just trying to stop him so I won't be the only loser not going to the concert," Joan said. "I'm not about to waste my energy with him, he can hold up on his own. Frankly, I don't even understand why he is so bent on going. He doesn't even like the Foo Fighters that much. But I don't care anyway. He can go off and do whatever he wants." Joan was ranting now. She was angry at Luke for being senseless, angry at her friends for wanting to get her involved against her will. But mostly, she was angry because she wanted to go to the concert, even if it meant sneaking out and getting into a fray with her parents. But she knew she couldn't. She knew this had something or everything to do with what God had told her.

"So you're not going to do anything about it? You're just going to let him go?" Grace asked. Joan stopped and turned to face her friend.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do: nothing. It's none of my business, right? Best stop sticking my nose into other people's lives, right?" she snapped. Grace and Joan glared at each other. Joan knew she was being a bitch, but it was true, anyway; Grace was always giving her crap about how much Joan always had to mess into other people's lives. And now she was demanding that she do just that?

Jordan looked worriedly at each of them in turn; she sensed this was a quarrel that went way back, so she stayed out. Joan dropped her guard, feeling exasperated. She knew Grace had nothing to do with her brother's stupidity. But Joan couldn't help having a go at her; she was so tired of all this right now.

"I don't know why you guys are so worried. It probably won't work out, anyway, and my parents will sentence him to house arrest before he can even climb out his window," she added. "I have enough crap to deal with. He's on his own now."

Grace and Jordan looked at each other, clearly showing that they disagreed with her. Joan sniffed contemptuously and left before they could say anything else to her.

------------------------

Joan was on the verge of depression by Thursday; the day of the concert. She still couldn't believe she wasn't going. And now Luke was concocting a little disaster for himself. And for some reason, Grace and Jordan expected her to intervene.

She didn't talk to anyone except Adam, at school. The problem was that she only had two classes with him. The rest she had to spend with Grace, Jordan and the others. Then there was AP Chem, which included Luke, and she just wanted to explode.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked her, just when Lischak had her back to them and was talking excitedly about boiling points. Joan was about to say yes, but she didn't want to lie to him, so she just shook her head. Beside her, Grace exhaled loudly. Joan simply ignored her.

"We'll talk after school, okay?" she told Adam. It would be impossible to talk freely with him when the others were so near. Besides, she wasn't in the mood at all. She had a history test on the Spanish Inquisition, and she feared a possible pop quiz in English Lit. With any hope, she would survive until the evening, and then she'd crawl into a corner and cry her eyes out because she would miss the Foo Fighters live and it was just not fair.

------------------------

"Want to come by later?" Adam asked. Joan hugged a cushion to her chest and nestled the phone in her shoulder.

"I'd like to, but my parents made it clear: no outings during weekdays. But I think they were emphasizing that just because of today," she said into the receiver. It was almost six, and she was sprawled across the living room couch channel-surfing, eating almonds and talking on the phone with Adam. Unless she was very much mistaken, Troy was already picking up the gang to get on the way; in which case, the Blue-natic should be appearing around the neighbourhood soon, to pick up Luke.

"And where are they?"

"Well, my dad's working, and my mom is doing laundry; she couldn't bear to wear stiff clothes anymore," Joan replied with a chuckle. "Hey, maybe you can come by later and we could watch movies or something. That way we'll do something together without me having to leave my prison cell," she suggested.

"I'm not sure if I should leave my prison, either. I haven't gotten started on the conceptual piece your mom assigned us, and it's for Monday," he replied.

"Bummer. I'm totally clueless about conceptual art; otherwise I would help you," Joan said.

"I'm home!" Kevin yelled, as he entered the house making a lot of racket, slamming the door behind him. Obviously he hadn't seen Joan, because she was concealed by the backrest of the couch, so she sat up and glared, almost knocking the bowl of almonds off her lap.

"Hey, I'm on the phone here!" she hissed at him. Kevin nearly fell out of his wheelchair in surprise.

"Sorry, didn't see you there. Where's everybody else?"

"Dad's at work, mom's in the laundry room. Luke's still here, I suppose," Joan answered. Kevin had no idea of what she meant by that last mention, but he shrugged dismissively and went to the kitchen. Joan lay back down on the couch. "Sorry about that. That was Kevin."

"Did you just nearly bite his head off?" Adam asked with a chuckle.

"Don't judge me, I'm just irked today, you know? Stupid concert. And I still can't believe you're ditching because of me. I feel terrible," she said.

"Cheer up, Jane. There will be other concerts," he told her. Joan was going to reply, when there was a strange sight on the TV screen; the channel she had just landed on was broadcasting the evening news, and there was a very familiar-looking anchorman in a grey suit sitting at a desk in front of a blue wall.

"Joan, can you hear me?" the anchorman called from the TV.

Joan nearly choked on an almond. She sat up and blinked, to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

"Jane, can you hear me?" Adam's voice called from the auricular. Joan managed a quick response.

"Uh, Adam? I'm gonna have to call you back. Er, my mom is calling me."

"Okay, later then. Bye," Adam answered. Joan said goodbye and turned off the phone.

"How's the reception? Am I coming across clearly?" God asked, adjusting His black necktie. Joan rushed toward the TV, kneeling in front of it so that she would be eye-to-eye with the figure on the screen.

"I really hate it when you show up in my house like this," she stated. God shrugged.

"Well, not many people like having a news flash interrupt their TV programming, but usually those announces are supposed to be important," God replied. "So, how are you doing this lovely evening?"

"This better be important, because I'm not in the mood. And besides, I was talking to Adam and you interrupted," Joan retorted.

"It _is_ important. There is a very important issue you should discuss with your brother, and you're postponing it."

"I hope you're referring to Kevin, because I have nothing to say to Luke," Joan declared. "He's sixteen years old; I would say he's old enough to take care of himself. And he's supposed to be smarter than the average kid his age," Joan said.

"Intelligence doesn't equal logic. Just like age doesn't equal maturity," God responded. Joan rolled her eyes.

"I know that. But why do I have to get involved?"

"You're his sister. He might not want to listen to you, but it's your responsibility, as older sibling, to protect him," God explained. "Kevin used to protect you because you were his little sister, didn't he? You eventually stopped needing him, but you know you can always trust him to take care of you."

Joan bit her lip thoughtfully. Sure she remembered, especially when she had entered high school, how Kevin had always protected her, whether it was from the bullies or bad influences or boys with ulterior motives. Even after the accident, during the time when Kevin felt like he had lost his powers, his strength, Joan admired him, because he recovered eventually, and because he continued to be there for her. She could always trust that he would be there for her.

Luke didn't have that, Joan realized. His older brother protected his sister only, and they both picked on Luke for being the little one and a nerd. He never had someone to defend him at school or anywhere else. His whole life, he had pretty much survived on his own, and barely. All of a sudden, Joan felt sorry for her little brother.

"Luke doesn't trust me. I've always made his life impossible," she admitted.

"You haven't even tried to talk to him."

"Because I know it's impossible," Joan said. She shook her head tiredly. "This is all very annoying. You said I had to do the right thing, didn't you? Well, I'm doing what's right; I'm not the one sneaking out. I'm staying out of trouble, like I should."

It was God's turn to shake His head. "Just because it's the right thing for you doesn't mean it's the right thing in general. There are other ways to make it right."

Joan breathed deeply. She didn't want to have to do this.

God pointed to a square that suddenly appeared over His left shoulder, showing the same picture of the Foo Fighters that had been printed on the posters announcing the concert. "The concert begins at nine, doors open at eight. Time's running out." He gave her a meaningful look, and Joan grimaced. She really, really didn't want to have to do this. God was now holding some sheets of papers, and looking straight ahead, and the square on His right now displayed a picture of Colin Powell standing at a podium. "A press conference was held this morning at nine, where former Secretary of the State, Colin Powell, issued a statement regarding the subject of the—"

"Wait! Is that all you've got to say?" Joan yelled at Him. She heard the sound of footsteps behind her and quickly turned her head. It was Luke. It seemed he had been coming downstairs, but when he saw her, he had turned around and tried to make it back upstairs without her noticing. Obviously, she did notice.

"Oh, it's you," she simply said. Luke stopped on his tracks and returned to the landing. He tried not to look guilty as he came closer.

"You know, it's great that you seem to have taken up an interest in the news, but you shouldn't argue with the TV, it's not very healthy," he said in what he hoped was a casual voice. "And neither is sitting so close to the screen."

Joan got up. She took a look at his jacket and shoes, and realized he was already on his way out. Had he actually planned to go out the front door unnoticed? _What a dumbass_, she thought. "Going somewhere, little bro?"

Luke shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm going to Friedman's house. We're working on a project. Strictly confidential."

_Oh, what a dumbass_, Joan thought again. She turned off the TV and walked to the couch to fetch the phone. "Is this the same Friedman who is probably already on the Blue-natic with the others on their way to the Foo Fighters concert?"

"Friedman's going to the concert?" Luke asked, faking surprise.

"Don't be a dork, Luke. Friedman's got a free ticket, just like us. Except that, by some strange turn of fate, he's got permission to go, and we don't," Joan said, stepping toward her brother, slowly, tauntingly. "However, I'm on to you right now and your lousy, amateur escape plan."

Luke watched her with narrowed eyes. "Who told you?" he asked in a very low voice.

"No one. I found out on my own. It doesn't take a genius," Joan lied, so she wouldn't compromise Grace and Jordan. But it wasn't as if she hadn't noticed something odd herself. Luke was very conspicuous.

He sniffed. "Obviously it doesn't. Takes much less than that," he said maliciously. Joan gave him a steely look before hitting him on the side of the head.

"Don't be so impertinent. You're not so much of a genius yourself. Did you actually think this brain-dead plan of yours would work out?" she snapped.

"Shh!" Luke hissed. He looked worriedly toward the kitchen, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure came out, but he was relieved to find it was only Kevin.

"What's going on?" Kevin asked.

"Where's mom?" Luke responded with another question. Kevin gestured to the kitchen.

"She's in the laundry room separating colors and whites. What is going on here?" he asked again.

Joan looked smugly at her younger brother. "Luke's sneaking out to the Foo Fighters concert," she said to Kevin. Luke was glaring daggers at his sister.

"Are you serious?" Kevin asked, staring at his brother with an expression of amusement and disbelief. Luke exhaled resignedly.

"Why do you want to go so badly that you're willing to defy mom and dad?" Joan asked. "I mean, have you even considered what will happen to you when they find out?"

"Why would they find out? Are you going to tell them? You or Kevin?"

"We don't need to. They will find out; they always do. They're parents, it's their duty, and they have their ways," Joan said.

"So, are you going to try to stop me? Are you physically going to prevent that I leave the house?" Luke asked haughtily, crossing his arms in a defying manner.

Joan shook her head. "I just wanted you to think for yourself about the consequences. I thought you were smart enough to figure it out on your own."

"Look, it's a stupid concert. Nothing's gonna happen. They'll get over it," Luke exclaimed in a rough but hushed voice, throwing his hands in the air.

"It's much more than that," Joan replied, but before she could say it all, Luke glanced at his watch, then turned around briskly and walked to the front door.

"You're being melodramatic. You just don't want me to go because you're the only one not going," he snapped, as he opened the door as quietly as possible.

"Luke," Joan's voice had a warning tone in it, "you step out that door, and I don't care what you label me later, I'm rattling to mom. And you'll regret this."

Luke gave her a very long look, like he was debating with himself whether to believe her or not. "You know you wouldn't," he said finally. After a few more seconds of scrutinizing her, he stepped across the threshold and gently closed the door behind him.

Joan hesitated for a moment before walking to the door. She didn't go out to call after her brother or to drag him back in; she pushed the curtain of the side window panel apart and looked out. The fading light of the setting sun dimly illuminated the figure of Luke hurrying toward the sidewalk. Joan also saw two other figures half-hidden by the hedge fence of the next house, waiting for Luke; the three silhouettes lingered briefly before sprinting down the sidewalk in the direction of the street corner. After they had passed the next house, they were out of sight.

Joan shook her head in disbelief. She went back to the stairs and sat down on the second step, looking down at her hands thoughtfully. She had tried, no doubt about it. She tried to talk some sense into him, but he was as pig-headed as Grace said. It made Joan very angry at her brother, but it also made her very worried.

"Aren't you going to tell mom?"

Joan looked at Kevin. He had been so silent during the row that she had almost forgotten he was there. "I don't know. I don't think so. But someone's got to bring him back. We can't just let him go all the way to Blakefield and back."

"Definitively. A rock concert is no safe place for a dweeb like Luke. He's likely to get in trouble."

"He already is. He's in deep shit."

Kevin couldn't help snickering. He didn't usually hear Joan swear. But she was visibly concerned right now. "Why did you let him go, anwyay? You could've stopped him. He's scrawny and soft." Joan ran a hand through her hair.

"I didn't actually think he'd leave. I thought he'd get scared and back out because I threatened him. That usually works. Now he's gone completely mental." She sighed. "We're not telling mom, that's for sure. I know it's a tempting prospect, but I don't actually want Luke to hate us forever. And we've got to bring him back."

"_We_?" Kevin repeated. "I'm sorry. I don't even know how I got dragged into this bad Real World plot, forgive the redundancy, but I can't go anywhere tonight. My car's low on gas, I'm very tired, and I've got to get up early tomorrow. It's four hours to Blakefield and back, I don't think I'd survive them." He saw Joan narrow his eyes at him. "Just let him go to the freaking concert, and when he comes back, he'll realize his mistake, and how no concert is worth having to deal with mom and dad afterwards."

"I wish I could, but…" Joan trailed off. There had been something about that last look anchorman God had given her that caused her chills. "I have a bad feeling about this. I don't know what it is, but I have to bring him back," she said very seriously, and she went to get the phone from where she had left it on the couch. Kevin stared after her.

"You're going to drive to Blakefield alone? Are you suicidal?"

"I'll call Adam and ask him to come with me. That way, I won't drive all the way to Blakefield alone. Besides, Dad's exaggerating. That road is not dangerous," Joan said.

"I'm talking about dad himself. When you come back, he'll strangle you. Joan," he grabbed her arm when she was about to rush upstairs, "nothing is going to happen to him. It's not worth jumping into the frying pan after him."

"You don't know that," Joan told him. "Look, if you don't want to get involved, pretend like you're clueless. If mom and dad ask about us, you say you don't know. We'll deal with them when we get back." Before he could reply, she ran upstairs and into her room. She threw on a pair of jeans and her grey hooded parka, and she sat on her bed to put on her Chuck Taylors. Then she quickly dialled Adam's number while she frantically looked for her Foo Fighters ticket; Troy had told her she should keep it, in case she had a sudden strike of good luck. She found it beneath a pile of papers on her dresser. In the meantime, no one was answering the phone in Adam's house. She tried again while she gathered her wallet, cell phone and keys in the first purse she could find; still no answer. With an exasperated sigh, she threw the phone on her bed and motioned to the door. Her mom passed by her bedroom just then, carrying a basket full of freshly-washed clothes. Luckily, Joan peeked out of her doorway a second later, and Helen didn't see her. When she was sure Helen was inside hers and Will's room, Joan exited her room silently and made her way downstairs.

"Mom's upstairs. If —_when_— she and dad realize we're gone, leave a missed call on my cell," she instructed Kevin in the living room. "I'm going to Adam's first."

"Just clarify something for me, please," Kevin said as Joan walked to the front door: "which vehicle do you plan on taking on this little rescue mission?"

Joan swallowed hard as she instinctively grabbed her mother's car keys from the key hanger beside the door. Kevin was positively horrified now. "This is crazy."

"I'll be okay," Joan said, giving him a reassuring smile. But somehow she wasn't feeling very sure at the moment. She quickly got out of the house and hurriedly got into Helen's car, trying to be as quiet as possible. She inserted the key in the ignition and started the car.

"I am so dead," she said to herself while she put the car on reverse and backed out of the driveway. Turning the steering wheel, she put the car on drive and smoothly made her way down and out of her street.

------------------------

She made it to the Rove residence under three minutes. She skidded to a stop right behind Mr. Rove's car and Adam's rusty red pickup truck. As she leapt out of her mom's car, she noticed Mr. Rove standing on the porch, pulling out his house keys.

"Hi, Mr. Rove!" she called, sprinting up the path to the house. Mr. Rove turned and saw her, and he smiled at her.

"Joan Girardi! What a nice surprise! What brings you around this evening? Oh, let me guess…"

Joan grinned, trying to hide the fact that she was frantic and she had little time and patience for gallantries at the moment. "I need to speak to Adam. It's rather urgent. He's here, right?"

Mr. Rove fumbled with a piece of paper he held in his hand. "I'm afraid you just missed him. He left me a note taped to the door." And he handed the paper to Joan. She unfolded it and read:

_Hey, Dad: it's 5:56 exactly. Seems I'm going to the concert after all. Dinner's in the microwave and fridge. I'll be back as soon as possible. Don't worry about me. Take care. Love, Adam._

------------------------

Five minutes later, Joan was entering the highway to Blakefield. She knew it's not good to drive when angry. But she had no choice. And she couldn't help being angry.

How could Adam have gone to the concert? She had just been talking to him a while ago, and he told her he wasn't going if she wasn't. What made him change his mind? Or had he been lying to her all this time?

This was turning out to be a very distressing night. Luke sneaked out, and in order to bring him back, she had to sneak out too. Her boyfriend went to the concert without telling her. Now she was worried, unnerved, and scared, driving alone at night down a highway she barely knew on her way to a town she didn't remember having visited ever.

A radio station began playing the Deftones's "Be quiet and drive". _How appropriate_, Joan thought, quickly changing the channel. She wished she at least had asked Kevin to ride beside her, but she hadn't been expecting Adam to not be home.

_Stupid Adam. Stupid Luke. Stupid concert!_

She didn't know who to blame for this whole mess. All this time she had been trying to do the right thing, just like God told her to. And if it weren't for Troy getting them all tickets, she and Luke wouldn't have had a reason to beg their parents for permission. And if Will and Helen hadn't denied them that permission, Luke wouldn't have made plans to sneak out. And if her friends hadn't agreed to pick him up before the concert, Luke wouldn't be on his way to Blakefield this instant. And if Luke weren't on his way to Blakefield, Joan would still be at home, talking to Adam on the phone. And then Adam wouldn't have ditched her to go to the concert after all!

Joan didn't know who she was angrier at, but she didn't want to think of that right now. She took a deep breath and tried to relax, focusing on the road ahead. There was only one car half a mile ahead of her, and another one about the same distance behind her. She still had two hours to go, all alone. She wasn't even sure how to get to The Edge Arena once she was in Blakefield. Hopefully God would show up and keep her company when she got there.

She came across the sign that said 'Blakefield – 245 miles'. Another radio station was now playing "Blackbird" by The Beatles. At that moment, she thought of Judith.

It had been quite a long time since the last time she had thought of Judith. It had also been a long time since she had heard that song. For some reason, 'Blackbird' reminded her of her Gentle Acres pal; the other half of Joanith. Judith had resembled a blackbird in the inky blackness of her hair, as well as in her carefree personality. She couldn't have been caged; she had always been adventurous, audacious and independent; always flying whenever and wherever she wanted, no matter what. Many times her audacity had gotten her in trouble. But Judith had been happy, in spite of all the trouble. Joan wished she had half the courage and adventurous spirit her friend once had.

"I wish Judith were here," Joan said out loud to no one. She wiped a tear from her cheek and kept driving.

------------------------

This whole concert thing will soon come to an end, I promise. I know I've been dragging this too long, but I also promise, the events of these chapters are crucial for the plot and the events that will be unfolding in the future. Bear with me. I'm on a roll. I am very annoying when I'm on a roll.

Beta reader/Editor's note (Mike's note): that was a really nice tribute to the late Judith Montgomery. I know how much Alexz liked that character and I know how awful it was for her to see her favorite new character disappear so quickly.

Hey, maybe at this pace, I will even have the next chapter ready before New Year, too (but don't count on it. I'm sick and my eyes are tired from spending so much time in front of the computer. I haven't bought a New Year's Eve party outfit, and I'm trying to recover for said party before I have to receive the 2005 with a sore throat and a stuffed nose).

So, in case you don't hear again from me until next year, Happy New Year to everyone! Hope 2004 was nice to you and hope this new year brings much joy and good fortune to everyone. Best wishes from the mischievous Miss Chievous. Thank you and good night!

In the darkNess


	12. Middle of nowhere

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!! I told you I wouldn't post until January. I'd been really messed up with that cold; I was barely been able to work. I barely even made it to the New Year's Eve party! But I recovered in time, and now I'm back to writing.

To answer **Jane and Adam**'s question, Jane and Adam (J) became a couple in my fic at exactly the same time they became a couple in the TV series. Keep in mind that I began writing this starting off last season's "Jump" episode, but since it's a very long fic and I don't want you or me to get bored of it, I decided I would constantly be adapting the chapters of my fic to the series as new episodes come along (you can tell that from several parts of my story, like the inclusion of the late Judith Montgomery at the end of last chapter, or the mention of Iris and the White Stripes concert, or Helen being the art teacher, and so on). Also take into consideration that this is supposed to be Joan's senior year, when in the series she's actually a junior. The problem, as you posed it, is that I had already started this fic as if, originally, Joan and Adam weren't together as a couple (yet), but since in the series they eventually became a couple, and I am adapting this fic to the series, magically (or miraculously) wham!! they are a couple.

Whew! That was a long explanation.

However, I cannot leave this like it is, because that would be just a very easy way to weasel myself out of this imminent plot-hole. So now I have to thank you for pointing this out. I have thought up a (hopefully) good way to fix it, so as to make my story plausible, and still keep this fic par with the happenings of the series. Read on and you'll see. Thank you, **Jane and Adam**! Hope you like this chapter, I wrote it especially for you.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Joan Of Arcadia, but I don't. However, I own pretty much everything else in this fic.

Chapter soundtrack: "All my life" by Foo Fighters, "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks, "Girl with a pearl" by Truman, "Dark side of the moon" by Pink Floyd, "Kids in America" by Kim Wilde, "Hard day's night" by The Beatles.

------------------------

The Beginning of the End

-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Twelve – Middle of nowhere (or "See you in the dark side of the moon")

------------------------

Joan was lucky enough to find an empty parking spot right in front of a drugstore, two blocks away from The Edge Arena. She was glad to get out of the car and stretch her legs, after two hours of driving non-stop. The surrounding area was bustling with people walking or standing around, big reflectors shooting and swaying beams of light up into the evening sky and music blaring from large speakers stationed at diverse spots right outside the perimeter of the venue.

The Edge Arena was the biggest venue in Blakefield, with its five-story tall concrete walls and capacity for holding around 25,000 persons. Because of the inside structure, the arena was mostly for music concerts; from the outside, it looked quite like a school gym blown up three times its size.

Joan checked her watch; it was five to eight, which meant the doors had yet to be opened. There was a line of concert-goers that stretched from the very entrance of the arena building, turned the corner, crossed the street and continued to the next block, where it again turned the corner and went nearly all the way around. And people kept arriving. Joan wondered if the venue would be able to hold this whole crowd; it looked like the 25,000 limit had been maxed out.

She quickly got her wallet and cell from her purse and stuffed them in her pockets; then she hid her purse under the driver's seat and locked the doors. She had to find Luke and the others before the line could start moving. She crossed the street and ran toward the venue entrance, to the very beginning of the line; it was only logical that she should begin searching from the front and move toward the back. Just as she reached the front and started looking for her friends, the large men dressed in black who were guarding the entrance began signalling each other, and then the doors opened, and there was an excited whooping surging through the crowd of fans stationed at the very front. The line began to advance very slowly as, one by one, the thrilled fans surrendered their tickets to the black-clad men and allowed themselves to be briefly frisked for weapons or hazardous objects, before disappearing through the open doors into the building. The air right outside the arena was suddenly abuzz with excitement and electricity all over again.

Joan dodged scalpers and ignored impertinent calls and hoots as she moved alongside the expectant people, occasionally calling out her friends' names when she thought she saw someone who looked like one of them. She was already halfway through the crowd lined at the other side of the street, and getting increasingly frantic, when finally she caught sight of two very familiar figures standing with their backs to her. There was a girl with chin-length blond hair and a black leather jacket standing next to a girl with long dark blond hair and a burgundy parka. Joan sprinted toward them, and let out a relieved sigh when she realized she was right.

Grace and Jordan both turned at once and comically widened their eyes at the sight of Joan.

"I can't believe I found you! I thought I'd go crazy!" Joan exclaimed. Jordan was the first to snap out of her shocked state.

"Joan! You're here! How? When?" she blurted in an attempt to sound coherent.

"I drove my mom's car. I got here about ten minutes ago, and I've been looking for you guys all over the place," Joan explained.

Grace frowned in confusion. "I think she actually means is, what are you doing here? What made you come down here?"

"I came to take the geek back home. Where is he?" Joan peeked around the burly guy ahead of them. Crouching on the floor or leaning against the dank brick wall of the old-fashioned apartment building turned decaying-commercial-establishment complex, was the rest of the gang. Troy, Erika, Carolina, Remy, Adam, Friedman and Luke were animatedly chatting amongst themselves, buzzing as much as everyone else at five miles radius.

The first one to notice her was Adam. He did a double-take, his face clouding over with confusion and (what could perhaps be interpreted as) guilt. "J-Jane," he stammered. "You're… here. You're—"

Joan ignored him bluntly, immediately cutting him off. The others turned to look at her, mildly shocked at her presence. Luke, who was sharing something apparently hilarious with Carolina, stopped mid-sentence as soon as he saw his sister out of the corner of his eye. He looked her up and down, as if making sure he wasn't having a hallucination. "Oh no…" he muttered, suddenly mortified. Joan was nodding slowly, enjoying Luke's mortification.

"Hey, guys. Hope you have fun at the concert. But Luke's going home. Remember: he's got no permission to be here," Joan announced. Troy, Erika, Carolina and Friedman watched the scene with certain amusement, while Adam, Grace, Remy and Jordan observed with caution. The line was moving, and they all stepped forward until it stopped again. Luke gave Joan a wary look.

"Did you come here with mom and dad?"

Joan gave a phony grin. "Luke, if I had told them, although they probably know by now, dad would be the one standing here, holding you at gunpoint," she joked. Luke narrowed his eyes spitefully. Joan sighed. "Come on, little brother. It's past eight already and it's a long ride home. We should get going," Joan said to Luke, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, tugging slightly so that he would follow. He needed just to tug slightly the other way to get his sleeve out of her grip.

"How about 'no'?" he responded defiantly. Behind Joan, Grace slapped her forehead and shook her head. Joan cocked an eyebrow.

"'No'?" she repeated in a low voice. "How about 'you don't get a say, you just do what I tell you, because I didn't drag myself all the way to another town to witness you trying to be all bad boy'? You're not supposed to be here, remember? As much as I would've enjoyed it in another, less severe occasion, I don't actually want mom and dad to unleash their Armageddon upon you if you turn up at home at four in the morning after sneaking out."

Troy sniggered quietly behind his hand, and Erika elbowed him in the stomach. Luke chuckled lowly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Look, I'm not even going to try to figure out why you came here after all. It's not like anyone made you," he said, trying to keep his cool.

"I beg to differ," Joan mumbled under her breath.

"Whatever. I didn't come all the way here to ditch the concert and be dragged back home by my sister."

Joan stood menacingly, hands in hips, steely gaze drilling her brother in place. "And I didn't steal mom's car and drive some 300 miles for two hours to a strange town to find my brother so that he could tell me that he's not coming with me. You are coming with me. I already drove here all alone because someone who had claimed he wouldn't come to the concert actually came to the concert after all," she gave a very pointed glare in Adam's direction, before glaring back at Luke, "so I had no one with me on the drive over here. I was pissed and scared and tired. I want to go home now, but I'm not going anywhere without the person I came all the way her to get: you. So stop the lame James Dean wannabe act and come with me _now_."

The others recoiled slightly. Joan seemed to be shooting sparks out of her eyes.

For a moment, they didn't move. Luke had adopted a very steely glare as well, and was now holding a sort of staring contest with Joan, as if to see who could burn a hole through the other's head first. Then the real arguing began. The two siblings were practically biting each other's head off, calling each other names and taunting each other with old grudges and spiteful stories. None of them had even seen Luke or Joan so feisty at each other, and they watched entranced, mostly wary of Joan, who looked like she might actually start punching the lights out of her brother. The line began to move forward again, more rapidly this time, and for a moment the group didn't move, not knowing what to do while Luke and Joan continued to glare at each other; but the people behind them promptly began hollering and pushing, so they had no choice but to move. Oblivious to the constant lurching of people, the pair continued the heated row, their voices getting louder as they neared the arena, because the music from the giant speakers was getting louder as they got closer.

"Hey, we're next!" Caro suddenly yelled. Joan and Luke looked up to find they were only three other people ahead of them in the line, and it was their turn to go through the security frisk. Caro, Troy, Erika, Friedman, Remy and Jordan handed their tickets to one of the black-clad men and stepped through to the spot where the security guards did their metal-detecting and pocket-poking thing before letting anyone through the big doors. They lingered outside the door and turned to look at the other four, who stood undecidedly, tickets in hands. The people behind them started getting restless.

"Move it, twerps!" someone yelled. Others started hooting and whistling.

Adam looked at Joan, and she gave him a blank stare. Unfazed, he stepped toward the guy collecting the tickets and walked toward the security guards. Grace followed, giving Joan an apologetic look.

"Luke…" Joan muttered, a pleading tone on her voice. Luke gave Joan another defiant look as he imitated Adam and Grace and stepped through the entrance. As soon as he was frisked, he grabbed Friedman by the jacket and dragged him through the arena doors and disappeared inside.

"What's it going to be, Joan?" Caro asked. "Did you come all the way here to miss the chance of seeing the Foo Fighters live?"

Joan hesitated. She fingered the ticket in her hand. The noise coming from inside the arena was a resounding mesh of excited screaming and blaring speakers; the thumping of a bass drum accompanied by a singing voice and deafening guitar riffs signaled that one of the opening acts was already on stage. Joan looked at her friends, all waiting for her near the door, some wearing eager looks and some expectant frowns. She really didn't know what to do.

"Kid, I'm gonna have to ask you to step aside. You're stalling the line," the burly ticket guy said to her. The fans behind her kept hooting and whooping at her, and one person even began nudging her forward.

With a heavy sigh, she finally made up her mind. Shoving her ticket in the guy's face, she crossed the chain-link fence entrance and approached one of the security guards. Troy, Erika and Caro cheered, while the others just watched her. The security guard felt down the sides of her body quickly, and stood up.

"Enjoy the show, Joan," he said. Joan had barely registered that, when Jordan and Caro each grabbed one of her arms and led her inside the arena. Looking over her shoulder, she got one last glimpse of God, standing there staring after her, before she was sucked into the concert environment.

------------------------

Joan did _not_ enjoy the show. The Foo Fighters put on an amazing concert, of course, but Joan could not enjoy herself, even though she found herself singing along to every song. Everything made her uncomfortable, constantly reminding her that she really was not supposed to be there. There was a moment when she was separated from the gang, and she was left with only Adam beside her, which didn't make her feel any better. She really didn't want to have anything to do with him.

The concert was over a little later than she had predicted. At 1:20 a.m., the band left the stage, and everybody began trampling each other on the way out of the arena. It was an odyssey to get out, and since the group had managed to split, it took a while until everyone was reunited outside of the venue. They were all sweaty, disheveled and hoarse, but everyone had a thrilled smile plastered on their faces. Everyone except Joan.

The others had to force Luke to go with Joan. Either Luke was very angry with her or very scared; Joan had to practically drag him to the car. They stopped at the nearest gas station to fill up the tank, and Joan went into the store to pick up a few things. She came back with two cans of Coke (both for herself), a bottle of water and a bag of ruffles, all for her; it was sugar and caffeine to keep herself going for the next two hours back home.

Luke slept for most of the ride home, trying to block out that very annoying high-pitched beep in the inside of his skull (the one people get when being exposed to very loud music for an extensive period of time), and the sounds of Joan singing along to the radio awfully loud (and awfully unworried by such things as a key and a rhythm); apparently she was doing it to keep herself awake. When Luke couldn't stand how Joan was totally destroying Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon", he gave a very audible groan and begged her to stop the car.

"Why? Do you need to vandalize something in the middle of nowhere?"

Luke glared at her for the umpteenth time that day. She grinned. "I'm just asking."

"I need to take a leak."

Joan gave a very heavy sigh of impatience. "Fine," she said. She reluctantly turned off the radio and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. She put the car in "park" and killed the engine. They both got out of the car. "I wanted to stretch my legs anyway. You see, they're very tired from standing for so long during that concert we weren't supposed to go to," she added, her tone aggressively cynical. Luke had half-disappeared behind a tree not too far off, doing his "business".

"It's not my fault you were in the concert. You didn't have to come. And even if you came, you didn't have to stay," he said, still from behind the tree.

"Hey, shh, don't talk to me while you're doing _that_. It's gross," Joan exclaimed. "There are Sani-Wipes in the glove compartment, by the way. Use them."

Luke came back finally, immediately reaching for the wipes inside the car. A single car sped down the road and flew past them in a second. Everything became quiet again. In the silence, Joan continued humming "Dark side of the moon" while walking over the white line painted on the road.

"I really don't get it, Joan. I was the screw-up tonight," Luke continued, staring at her puzzled. "I thought you would seize the opportunity to redeem yourself, and to taunt me forever. After all, it's always been me the goody-goody, and you the demented Evil Knievel who runs off with a gunned-up psycho prom date."

"Ok, that was a one time thing. And why do you always bring that up?"

"This was your chance to be the good one. Why didn't you take it?"

"What are you talking about? I'm still the good one," Joan argued. "I went all the way to Blakefield to get you back. I even stuck around for the concert just to make sure I was going to drive you back home."

"Oh yeah, like mom and dad are actually going to see it that way."

"Yeah, well, mom and dad don't always have to be right," Joan muttered, mostly to herself.

"What?"

"I said they don't need to see it that way. You'll back me up anyway."

Luke snorted. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I just might have saved your ass tonight."

"What? From what?"

"From anything, actually. A rock concert is no place for a geek like you."

"Oh yes, I am so willing to stand up for you when you refer to me like that," Luke said sarcastically.

"I didn't say that. Kevin did," Joan replied quickly, smiling inwardly at the wittiness of Kevin's remark.

"You're exaggerating. I don't need you to take care of me," Luke retorted.

"Everybody needs to be taken care of by someone," Joan replied. She took a deep breath and leaned against the car. "Look, I know you've never had someone to protect you like I've always had Kevin do for me."

"Oh, please don't tell me you were trying to be the big sister taking care of me!" Luke shouted. "You wanna know what I think? I think you just felt left behind, and this whole lame argument of yours is your supposed excuse for having winded up at the concert."

Joan groaned; she had been right after all. "That is not it at all," she said in a low voice, trying to keep calm. "I was worried about you, ok? That's why I went. I didn't want to go to the concert. Not anymore, because I would've just felt guilty. I didn't go because I felt left behind. I went because of you."

"I think I'm old enough to be able to take care of myself," Luke replied. Joan snorted. Her conversation with news anchorman / God replayed itself in her mind.

"Excuse me, but age does not equal maturity. Just because you can sneak out and run off to a concert in another city does not make you mature at all!" Joan said. She was yelling now, despite being hoarse, her voice echoing in the emptiness of the lonely whereabouts. She gave him a concerned look. "You're not a kid anymore, Luke. Think about the consequences of your actions. Grow up!"

Luke didn't answer. Apparently he had nothing to say. He just stared at her, realizing she was right and how much the truth hurt. Joan gave him an uncharacteristic pat on the shoulder.

"It's not all about fun and games, little brother," Joan continued saying, her voice softer. "You have to be more responsible. You're not impulsive, that's not you at all. And just because the others were going doesn't mean you're gonna die if you don't go as well."

He was still looking down at his hands, his head slightly twisting from left to right. "I can't believe these words are coming from your mouth," he said in a very low voice, not in an unkindly tone. Joan chuckled.

"Well, perhaps I'm maturing. It comes with it," she responded. And she knew she was right. It wasn't God who had told her about it; she had realized this all on her own. Luke straightened up and looked at her, a pained expression on his face.

"It's just…" he began. "I always play by the rules, and I thought… giving myself a little freedom wouldn't hurt."

Joan had to chuckle again. "You make it sound like our house is a prison," she said. "There is freedom and then there's insurrection. Insurrection hurts, because you risk losing our parents' trust."

He sighed heavily. Joan felt there was something else she needed to say. "Look. Nobody likes to have the truth rubbed in the face. I know I don't. But it comes with it, with growing up, becoming mature. Dealing with your mistakes. It's not going to be the end of you."

Luke gave her a faint smile. She realized then, at that precise instant, that she had made, after all, the right choice. Not just for Luke, but for her as well. Maybe her relationship with Luke had never been and probably would never be solid. It's not like they would be just like Kevin and Joan. But Luke now knew he could count on his sister, and that was enough for the moment. They shared moments, awkward but special moments, the most significant being the stunt kite she got him for his birthday which his parents had forgotten. Those moments were rare, which is what made them special. They weren't many, but they were enough.

"Let's just go home and get this over with," Luke said at last, half-heartedly but denoting conviction. Joan patted him again before getting in the car.

"That's the spirit."

They were going to need a lot of spirit to deal with what was waiting for them at home.

------------------------

"If only I had no heart at all, I would have you both arrested."

It was 3:45 in the morning, and the Girardi household was uncharacteristically active. Will was practically throwing smoke out of his ears as he paced between the coffee table and the couch, gesturing spastically in rage, his slippers making a shuffling sound on the carpet. Helen just stood quietly on the other side of the table.

Joan and Luke had their gazes glued down on their hands. They were sitting side to side on the couch in the living room, Will and Helen standing over them in their robes and pyjamas; from the look of the disheveled couch cushions, it seemed they had fallen asleep while waiting for their kids. But when Joan and Luke had walked through the door, their parents had been standing right there, by the door, very alert, Will looking particularly drill sergeant-ish. It seemed anger fueled them with lots of energy.

Luke didn't know how he managed to get out of the car. His shoes seemed to have been filled with lead (which wasn't so strange, considering he had spent four of the past six hours standing and jumping around, which is why not only did his shoes feel like they were filled with lead, but also his legs felt like spaghetti), and as he climbed the stairs onto the porch and approached the front door, they just kept getting heavier and heavier. It didn't help him at all that he looked like shit (and probably smelled similarly, too).

He was glad to get home at last, because it meant he would get to sleep in his bed, and because he wouldn't have to listen to Joan sing anymore; she had become increasingly more dissonant after the caffeine and sugar kicked in and she was no longer running on natural stamina. On the other hand, the Joan had woken him up because they were already pulling into the driveway, and Luke caught sight of the squares of light coming from the living room and kitchen windows, it finally hit him, the magnitude of what he had done, and what was going to happen now. At that precise moment he was wishing he could be anywhere but here.

"You kids obviously have no idea what it's like, but I just want you to picture it for a moment," Helen was saying now, in an eerily soft voice. She took her chance when Will stopped for air. "The agony, the stress, the unbearable desperation of waiting, powerless, expecting, hoping, praying that your children are alright, that time will race until the moment they get back, because the hours just stretch endlessly. And you wish you could roam the world all over in a second and find them and bring them back. But you know you can't. It's a horrible, horrible feeling; the fear, the restlessness, not knowing what to do or what will happen. Are you picturing it? Does it seem like something you would like to actually live out?"

It would have been no different if Helen had been screaming her words at them, because Joan had the awful wrenching feeling in her gut. She felt terrible. Just a few weeks ago Helen had been telling her how proud she was of how Joan had matured. Now Helen was probably regretting that statement, and she was most likely thinking she was the most irresponsible, selfish girl. And nothing that Joan said in her defense would help her.

"Mom, dad, if I may say something," Luke interrupted, his voice revealing a slight quiver that demonstrated how shaken he was; after all, this was the first time he was getting so severely reprimanded.

Luke bit his lip and took a deep breath. "It's all my fault. I'm the one who snuck out to go to the concert. Joan wasn't going to go. She didn't want to disobey you. She actually went because of me. She was worried that I could get in trouble, so she came after me just to make sure I was okay, and to bring me home. But I didn't want to leave, which is why she stayed with me. And then she brought me home," he blurted out, his words tripping over because of how fast he spat them out.

Silence followed his statement. After a few seconds, Will made a strange sound with his throat, like a drowned snort. "Well, that's an interesting way of not disobeying us. So she left the house without a word, took her mother's car without permission, and drove out of the city to a concert we had forbidden her to go to?"

Joan opened her mouth to state that she hadn't left without a word, because Kevin had known, but she caught herself just in time, remembering she had told him he could pretend not to know, so she snapped her mouth closed again. Will caught her changing her mind about saying something.

"You should've told us. We are the ones supposed to handle these situations. If you had let us know, I would've been the one to follow Luke to the concert and forced him into the car at gunpoint, if necessary," he said to her in a hard-edged.

Joan and Luke exchanged a look. _I told you_, Joan's expression said clearly.

"You're both grounded until further notice. And as if all of this weren't enough excuse for that, I will justify myself further tomorrow morning. But right now I'm too tired and upset, and I need to sleep," Will added, his impetus going steadily down.

"I just—" Luke interjected again. Will and Helen fixed their gazes on him, expectant. Luke tried not to recoil. "Look, I know nothing that I say will make you feel any less angry or change your minds. I'm not trying to free myself from any punishment. But I do want you to know that I'm really sorry for what I did, and I promise I'll never do it again. It's not worth it. I wouldn't want to lose your trust."

Joan hoped he was being honest, and he wasn't just regurgitating what she had said to him. He inhaled before continuing.

"And I'm really serious about Joan. She tried to talk me out of going to the concert, but I didn't listen. When we were in Blakefield, she really wanted to drag me back to the car and take me home. She showed me how stupid and selfish I had been to have done this."

Will and Helen were too tired to try to hide their incredulous faces. Joan continued to sit there, quiet. She realized then she hadn't actually said a single word since she had stepped through the doorway. She was worried that if she said something she would screw things up much worse for her or Luke, and she was curious about how her parents would react to Luke's words. She was shocked herself, at the fact he was defending her. He seemed to be honest after all.

Helen sighed slowly, and Will sniffed. "I don't want to hear anymore," he said, not totally unkindly. He wasn't so angry anymore, just sleep-deprived. "We'll talk in the morning. But I suppose you're both well aware that what you did was awful, inconsiderate and irresponsible. There's no other way to look at it. You'll just have to deal with the consequences now."

_Consequences, yeah_, Luke thought, bobbing his head in resignation. Joan knew exactly what he was thinking.

The four of them went upstairs, exchanging no more words until they got to the second floor.

"You're both going to school tomorrow—well, today," Will corrected himself. "No matter what, you're going to school." And he disappeared inside his bedroom. Helen was about to follow him, but she turned to Joan, her eyes icy but sorrowful.

"Before I go to bed angry, I just want to know one thing: what were you thinking?" she asked. Joan felt the wrench in her gut again.

"I was just trying to do the right thing," she replied in a very low voice. That's all she could say.

Helen shook her head and half-chuckled, as if she thought it was actually a funny thing to say. "What makes you think that was the right thing to do?"

"Sometimes the right thing to do is not that evident."

Helen made that exhaling noise again, but she didn't smile. She just gave Joan a pained look before walking into her bedroom and closing the door. Joan sighed, slumping her shoulders in disappointment. She turned around. Luke was still standing there, gently leaning against the banister, his gaze fixed on his shoes in a thoughtful pose, as if he were weighing what had taken place downstairs. He looked at her when he felt her staring. They never spoke. They just suddenly grinned at each other. Nothing else needed to be said.

Joan stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Get some sleep. You look like shit," she finally said, still grinning. Luke nodded and went to his bedroom. Joan stared after him for a second before going into her own room and closing the door behind her.

------------------------

Neither icy cold showers nor a large caffeine dose was enough to get Joan out of her energy slump. She was sleepless, restless and hopeless, which were not very good conditions to suffer on a school day. Luke apparently fell asleep under the shower, which is why it took so long for him to come out. He was cranky in spite of his zombie-like state.

Her parents were probably not as tired as her or Luke, but they were silent and slow as they got ready for work. They never said anything to either one of them, but judging by the way they looked warily at their children, Joan had an inkling the subject would be picked up again in the evening, when her parents were wide awake and wanting to vent their daily frustrations with someone.

The only one apparently feeling great that morning was Kevin, who went from one side to the other with great energy, fetching things for breakfast and getting ready for his day. He made a couple of smart-assed remarks about no morning people, but shut up after he realized none of them was in the mood, fearing he might earn himself some sort of injury from one of them.

Joan sleep-walked down the sidewalk as she approached the bus stop, Luke not far behind. There was only one other person waiting for the bus, a boy about her own age, with shaggy dark brown hair, bright green eyes and a black jacket, who glanced at her and smiled when she stood beside him. She smiled back, her cheeks flushing slightly, and she tried to put her best face and posture. It wasn't easy when her brother seemed to have fallen asleep standing up, his glasses slipping slowly to the tip of his nose. She made a face at the sight of him. _Whatever Grace was thinking_… she thought.

The bus got to the stop shortly, and when the doors opened, Luke automatically made his way inside and sat in the nearest seat next to the window, so he could rest his head and catch some more sleep. The guy smiled at Joan again and made the gesture with his hand to let her through first, making Joan's cheek flush even more. She tried not to trip clumsily on the first step (as it sometimes happened to her when she was sleepy), and went to the middle of the bus just because, since the bus was half-empty at the moment. To her surprise, the boy followed her and sat right next to her. Joan didn't know if she should be feeling butterflies in her stomach or rather be a little afraid.

When the driver pulled out of the stop, she turned to the boy as if to speak to him, but she didn't know what to say. At this instant, she was too tired to think about anything, but she wondered if asking him for his name would be a good start for now. Before she could say anything, however, he faced her and gave her an impish grin.

"No introductions required, Joan. We've known each other long enough, wouldn't you say?"

It took Joan a couple of seconds to react, due to her low energy levels. She would've smacked Him if it weren't because this was God and because He was rather cute.

"I'm really not in the mental or body state to deal with you right now. I need to sleep. And if you're going to reprimand me for what I did last night, a choice that, I might add, was based on what we had discussed previously, then you can save your breath, because I won't listen to you. I'll be doing plenty of that tonight when my parents sentence me and Luke."

God stopped smiling charmingly and looked to the front. "Why did you go to Blakefield, Joan?"

Joan frowned at him. "Because you told me to. You said I had to protect Luke."

"Yes, but I didn't say 'Joan, steal your mom's car, go to Blakefield and bring your brother back'."

She looked blankly at Him. "I didn't steal her car! I was just borrowing it!" she said angrily. God breathed deeply.

"That was the choice you made. You had the option of telling your parents and letting them deal with Luke, or going after him like you eventually did. Do you think you made the right choice?"

Again, Joan was unable to respond. She didn't know what had led her to jump into her mom's car and drive to Blakefield. A feeling, she had called it, that something might happen to Luke. How could she possibly protect Luke any more than her parents can? Maybe she should've told them, let Luke deal with them, and keep herself out of trouble. It was just an opportunity like this one, just like Luke had said, to be the good one and gloat over her brother screwing up. Why hadn't she taken it?

"Look, this was his first major screw up. He doesn't even know what getting in trouble is. He wouldn't have made it through alone. My parents would've killed him," she said very quickly, trying to justify herself.

"But why get yourself in trouble?"

"Because!" she exclaimed a bit too loud, startling a few people around them. She lowered her voice. "Because he's a bit of an idiot. If mom and dad had gone after him and punished him, he would probably defy them again and again, just to spite them and to play the rebel role. I just wanted to make him see how stupid he was being."

"You were protecting him," God said.

Joan shrugged. "I suppose. I just wish he would grow up."

God nodded. "When you grow up, you gain more freedom. It's that little adventurous spirit inside everyone that is usually referred to as independence. Being independent, or free, comes with responsibilities. In most cases, you are responsible of making the right choice for yourself, and dealing with the consequences. Luke's not the only one who learned that last night. You already knew it; you just needed to be reminded of it."

Joan sighed tiredly. "Well, I'm in deep shit with my parents."

"And so you grow to learn from your mistakes," God explained.

Joan smiled half-heartedly. "'What doesn't kill me makes me stronger'?"

God chuckled. "Something like that, yes."

Leaning forward slightly, Joan looked at Luke, sleeping some four files ahead, his head swinging limply back and forth against the glass with the motion of the bus. She looked at God again. "Was it worth it?"

"If you think you made the right choice after all, you'll see for yourself," God answered, smiling wittily again. He looked to the front as well, just as the bus was pulling into the stop near Arcadia High. "This is your stop," He said. Joan suddenly very tired all over again merely at the thought of the next half-day stuck at school.

"Is there a chance you would consider helping me out? After all, I did the right thing, I save my brother from an unknown evil and taught him a lesson. Don't you think I deserve a break?"

"What are you talking about? It's a great day to be awake. There's so much to experience. There are things you need to work out. You never stop learning," God said animatedly. Joan glared at Him. She pushed Him out of the way, yanked Luke after her and got off the bus before He could say anything else that might annoy her. Luke blinked several times, apparently lost, Joan still dragging him as they started toward the school. The bus drove away, and Joan glanced at the window where God was sitting. He waved at her and smiled before He was out of sight. Joan momentarily wondered what He had meant by "things she needed to work out", but she forgot about it as she continued to pull Luke along.

------------------------

Once again, I'm so sorry about the delay. Once I recovered from the cold I had, I was trying to recover from writer's block and the constant headaches and lack of energy I undergo after quitting coffee (I can't believe it's only the second day! I might die!). When you suffer from bi-polar disorder, you're not supposed to take any sort of stimulants like caffeine or too much sugar. After much nagging from my family, friends, psychologists, etc, I've decided to indulge them just to get them off my back. It's been a nightmare (have you tried to picture an Italian without his/her daily espresso?)

In other notes, God as we just met him was based on my boyfriend Seth. He's been expecting his big debut since, I think, the first three chapters, and I've kept him waiting long enough (wasn't he cute?). He will make other appearances in the future, of course.

Mike: And I'm still waiting for MY own debut.

Alexz: Chill, Chemist, I'm building up to your big debut. It's perhaps the biggest one, so it needs a lot of 'building up to'. You'll see.

Mike: rubs hands together mischievously

Thanks to **Azure057** for keeping me grounded. I'm sorry I spoiled the series for you. I'm not doing so good myself. The last episode I saw was the one about the recorded statements and Luke's birthday.

To **Jane and Adam**: I'm terribly sorry, but you'll have to wait until next chapter to see how I fixed the plot-hole. This chapter ran too long and I didn't want to make it even longer. Please be patient. I'll try to hurry, I promise.

More coming soon! Thanks for reading! Good night!

In the darkNess


	13. My heart at my feet

I am so very sorry that I took so long to post a new chapter. It was a very long vacation that I took. But what do you expect? I never miss the Carnevale.

Then I got sick. Again. Which is actually a tradition for me (Alexz goes to the carnival and heads home, and then she catches something really dumb and annoying, like a common cold or a stomach virus. Sometimes she breaks a bone in a stupid fall). In consequence, I didn't feel like doing anything in my free time, except sleep. Or allowing myself to be babied by Seth. But then I really had to stay home and skip work and school because my parents and my doctor ordered me, so I had a lot of free time, all of which I don't want to spend on sleeping. So I finally had the chance to focus on writing for a couple of days.

Also, I admit it. I had writer's block. But it's all well now. Nothing that a few (too many) good, extensive breaks between school assignments can't cure. It's amazing how we are most inspired when we're supposed to be doing something completely different.

Author's note: Bear in mind, I might change the story name by the following chapter. Justthought I'd give you a heads-up.

Disclaimer: Don't own JOA. No longer wish to own JOA. Too much responsibility. Would rather borrow it occasionally for fun. Enjoy.

Chapter Soundtrack (This is quite an angsty one): "All of this past" by Sarah Bettens, "Empty apartment" by Yellowcard, "When you're around" by Dido (hidden track in Life for Rent), "20,000 seconds" by K's Choice, "Slipping away" by Sum 41, "She has no time" by Keane, and "How to be dead" and "Grazed knees" by the amazing Snow Patrol. They. Are. Brilliant.

* * *

The Beginning of the End

by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Thirteen – My heart at my feet

* * *

That was the longest school morning Joan had lived through yet. Nobody talked, either because they were still too hoarse from all the screaming, or still couldn't hear because of the beeping in their ears, or because they were barely awake. Joan was all three, but she was also in a very bad mood. She wasn't too mad at Luke anymore. She was mad at Adam.

He just sat beside her, in AP Chem and all the other classes they shared. He deliberately sat next to her, and then he never said a word. He wouldn't even look at her. Joan tried not to think about it; it was part of her plan to not speak or look at him either, so as to get the message across, but she had no idea if it was working or not. Or how long she would have to maintain this attitude. She just felt like yelling at him.

The final bell rang. The gang shuffled out of the Economics classroom, limbs moving very slowly and faces twisted in pain.

"Man, I obviously hadn't been to a concert in a long time," Carolina said, clutching her lower back with both hands.

"Anyone got any aspirin?" Remy asked, holding his head. Jordan reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. He took it. "Ah, even better. Thanks, love."

"So, what are the plans for tonight?" Grace inquired, her voice still scratchy.

Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at her as if she had just sprouted a beak.

"No plans for tonight, mate. Are you crazy? I do believe we could all do with some serious rest tonight. And I'm starting off as soon as I get home," Erika said. Everyone else nodded. Grace held up her arms in defense.

Before she knew it, everyone was going their own way, and Joan was walking alone, leaving behind the school building and thinking blissfully about the feeling of her pillow and covers, because as soon as she got home she was hitting the mattress. She would have a lot of time to sleep, being probably grounded for the whole weekend, and most likely beyond.

When she was near the bus stop, she looked over her right. Luke was nowhere in sight. However, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned to look over her left shoulder and saw Adam, about two inches away from her.

"You scared me," she snapped. He ignored her tone and held her gaze.

"We need to talk."

"Really? About what?"

"Come on, Jane. Obviously you're upset because I went to the concert without telling you. But it's not like there isn't an explanation."

Joan cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms expectantly.

"I wasn't really going to go. I mean, when I was talking to you on the phone, it never occurred to me that a few hours later I would actually be in the arena," Adam said.

"Did Harry Potter transport you there with a flick of his wand?" Joan asked sarcastically. Adam's shoulders slumped.

"Can I finish? Just two seconds after you hung up with me, Erika calls me. She said they were picking up Luke, and that they were going to convince you to come along too. But they needed me to come as well, because I would be the one to convince you. So she told me to get ready, and they were picking me up about a minute later. Grace was there, and she assured me you were going to come. But when we got to your place, you didn't come. Luke said you didn't want to come, and that you had tried to stop him from going too. I realized I was tricked into going to the concert. I yelled at Troy to drop me back at my house, but he wouldn't. So I was stuck."

Joan stopped clicking her heel on the ground in impatience and narrowed her eyes. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes. It is the truth."

"So they held you hostage."

"Pretty much. Yeah."

Joan gave him a disbelieving look. "Adam, you knew I didn't want to go to the concert. I mean, I did, but not if it meant disobeying my parents."

"But you went. Alone. And none of us yet understands why."

"That has got nothing to do with you. The point is, you're a freaking liar. I had told you I had no problem if you decided to go to the concert even if I wasn't. But you said you weren't. And then you did. And to top it off, you go ahead and blame others for your dishonesty," Joan began to turn slightly red.

"Okay, fine. I made a mistake. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? You said it yourself; it's only a stupid concert."

"No, Adam, it's the fact that you were dishonest. I mean, how do you think I felt when I found out that my boyfriend had lied to me and gone off with our friends to have fun when he had claimed he wouldn't go if I wasn't going?"

Adam's mouth dropped open, but no words came out. He blinked a couple of times.

"Did I hear you right?" he muttered. Joan frowned in confusion. He was staring at her strangely. "I'm not your boyfriend anymore. And if I reckon correctly, it wasn't me who decided that."

A look crossed Joan's face for a split second, as if she had been slapped. She realized she had referred to Adam as her boyfriend, when in fact they hadn't been a couple for months. She closed her eyes and shook her head, realizing her mistake.

"I… you know what I mean," she mumbled.

It was Adam's turn to shake his head. "No. I don't," he said, his tone of voice shifting. "What is this about, Jane? Are you tired again of how things are going? Do you need to scramble things up every once in a while?"

Joan glared at him, not believing her ears. His manner was rather mean, as if trying to provoke her. "Why are you being like this? I'm the one who's supposed to be mad at you."

"But why? Jane, you never were like this when we were going out. You were never controlling or jealous or anything. Why would you start now?"

Joan racked her brain, trying to think of what to say. But before she could speak, Adam continued.

"We weren't like this. We were never a regular couple. Sure, we sometimes felt jealousy, like when you thought Judith and I were going around behind your back or when I wasn't completely okay with you spending time with that Roger guy. And we argued, we fought, we ignored each other. That's what couples do. But we're not a couple anymore. And you still behave like we are."

Joan grinded her teeth. "Well, what do you think? You can't expect me to completely disregard what we used to have. After we broke up, you didn't really expect things to go back to the way they were before, right? I mean, are you going to tell me that you've lost every feeling that you used to have for me when we were going out? Do you really feel like we're back to the way we were before any of this happened?"

"Of course not. It's the complete opposite. I mean, you have no idea…" he trailed off, not looking at her for a moment. Then he went on. "What I don't understand is why you're acting so... I don't even know how to explain it. But you get mad at me because I went to the concert without telling you. And you feel jealous of me and Jordan just because we hit it off really soon. What does that mean, Jane: you don't want to be with me, but then I can't be with anybody else either? When I was with Iris it was one thing, but now it's just getting ridiculous."

Joan's face was a mix between surprise, embarrassment and indignation. Joan wasn't sure if she'd ever seen Adam so exalted. She blushed, realizing how aware Adam had actually been of Joan's jealousy toward his relationship with Jordan, at the beginning, when she thought they were flirtatious. And she was a bit offended at being called ridiculous. But all in all, she realized Adam was closer to the truth than what she could perceive herself. Though she would not admit it.

"Tell me why you're being like this," Adam said, this time speaking softer. He took a step closer to Joan, and it made her heart beat a little faster; whether it was because his approach made her nervous or the nearness of him made her heart flutter, she didn't know. But she could barely look at him straight in the eye.

"I want to know, Jane. I don't want to be mad at you, and I certainly don't want you to be mad at me. So if you can tell me what is wrong, why you're acting like this with me, then we can try to sort it out. Please, tell me," Adam said in a very soft and sweet voice. Joan swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to think straight, but it was very difficult when his dark eyes were gazing into hers with a pleading expression.

"Look, Adam… I-I'm sorry I gave you a hard time. I was- I just, well, right now it's a lot of things put together. I'm pissed because of Luke and now I'm grounded, and I guess it was partly also because you went to the concert without me," she finally managed to say, hiding the quiver in her voice as best as she could. "Can we just forget about the whole thing?"

"I don't know. Can you?" Adam asked back. Joan was taken aback once again by the sting in his tone.

"Adam, I already said I was sorry. Why won't you let it go?" she argued, throwing her hands in the air. "What do you want me to say? That all of this has been because I have a deeper reason? That I want to get back together? Is that what you want me to say?"

"I would love to hear you say that," Adam said, his voice losing its spitefulness and becoming suddenly mild. "If that is how you really feel, then I would be so glad if you said so. Because I've wanted to say it myself. But I'm afraid to say it. I'm afraid to get hurt again. But if you are willing to take the risk, then I am too."

Joan's defensive state popped like a bubble. She stared at him, nonplussed. She couldn't believe the words coming out of his lips.

Adam continued, the mildness turning into deep sorrow. "You and I, we have something special. We always did, no matter what we called ourselves. That's why I still want to be your friend, no matter how much you've hurt me. Because you're Jane, and that's priceless to me. But you complicate things too much."

Tears welled up in Joan's eyes. But she refused to let them fall.

"I wish there were a perfect balance. For you and me. But it's difficult…" Adam whispered. It was obvious he wanted to cry too, but he wouldn't.

"I wish that too. You know that I do," Joan replied, the trembling in her voice becoming more difficult to conceal. For what seemed like the longest time, they stood there, not looking at each other. If they did, they would not be able to control themselves. Joan wished so hard that she could just reach out and hold him, that they could hold each other, and not need to say anything for everything to be fine again. But there were things that needed to be said, no matter how difficult it could be. She couldn't take words for granted. Not with Adam. She would just have to find a way.

"Maybe I have wanted to say it," she began slowly, her voice barely audible over the beating of her heart. "I just haven't been sure of how to say it, or I haven't had the courage." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm afraid to hurt you again. I'm also afraid of getting hurt, too. I can't yet inside your head, so I don't know what you feel. And even from inside my own head, I'm not sure of what I feel."

Adam sighed, his eyes darting around, avoiding Joan's. Joan took another deep breath, praying for the courage to say what she really wanted to say. She got rid of the gap between them, but she was afraid to take his hand. He couldn't avoid her eyes any longer, and he finally looked at her. Joan's heart was thumping louder and faster.

"If I told you honestly," she began hesitantly, "that I would like to try again… to give us another chance… what would you say?"

She gazed hopefully at him. She could feel his breath quicken, feel his heart beat faster, almost in coordinate rhythm with hers. Joan found herself stealing a quick glance at his lips, wanting to kiss them, before he could say anything at all. Wanting him to kiss her.

He looked away. He took a step back. Before Joan could react, the distance between them was evident again, getting broader by the second.

"I don't know," Adam said, his tone between apologetic and pained. "I'm sorry; I just… I don't know. I don't know what I feel either. I just can't tell you right now. I need to think." He seemed frightened and confused. "I'm sorry, Jane." He turned toward the path he walked everyday to go home, taking long and quick strides, as if trying to get away from her as fast as possible.

Joan could have called after him, but there would have been no point. She just stood there, her heart at her feet, watching him walk away.

* * *

_"What do you want from me, Jane? Do you want me to just sit like a good boy waiting around for you to decide if it's been long enough? _

Adam's words from nearly five months ago rang in Joan's mind as her subconscious stubbornly replayed the break-up in her mind for the umpteenth time since it had actually taken place. She had said she needed a break, a time-out from their relationship, to re-evaluate her life, after all that had been going on in her life. She said she didn't know how much time it would require, but

After standing near the bus stop for a full five minutes, still staring in the direction Adam had gone even after he had been out of sight, she had managed to snap out of her trance and drag herself toward the bus, which had just pulled into the bus stop. She zombie-walked toward the nearest empty seat and slumped down, and fixed her eyes out the window during the whole ride. She went straight to her room when she got home, not bothering to check if anyone else was in the house at the moment. She closed the door, pulled the curtains shut, threw herself on the unmade bed, and cried into her pillow.

_"I don't have to put up with this shit, not from you and not from anyone else. I'm not a robot, Jane, you can't pretend like I have no feelings."_

He had started yelling at that point. He never yelled. Joan barely countered. There was more pain in their voices than anger.

_"Then I guess this is it."_

Adam looked at her in utter disbelief. Without another word, he had stormed out of her house.

Joan had been too shocked to cry. After Adam left, she only shelled up in her room until the next day. Nobody had come looking for her. They probably understood she wanted to be alone. But that night, Helen brought the cordless into her room and told her Adam wanted to talk to her. She agreed to come to his shed so they could talk. This time, neither one yelled. They talked until very late; Adam had obviously thought things over a lot, and he decided to be supportive. He understood everything Joan had gone through had been building up in her. He told her he was there for her anyway, even if only as a friend. Joan had only hugged him and cried into his shoulder.

But Joan had actually regretted her decision only moments after the words had come out of her mouth. She was unable to take it back right away; it was too late. She would have to wait and see what would happen, whether it was in the near future or after a very long time. She just couldn't undo it right away. It was not fair to Adam. He was hurt at first, but he decided to take it well. And not in his usual apathic, "whatever, life goes on" manner, like with most things that don't really matter to him. He took this break-up positively, optimistic, because he hoped it was only a passing thing, a time-off they really needed, even if they hadn't realized it sooner or refused to realize it. And also, he took it well because he wanted to be a good guy, an understanding boyfriend, but most importantly, he wanted to be an understanding friend.

All this time, Joan and Adam had been fine as friends, quite like they had been at the very beginning when they first met. But Joan knew that she wanted to be more than just friends once again. It had been a decision that she had been playing around for a while now. But when it comes to love, you never know when the time is right or not. You just follow your instinct. The thing was that, Joan didn't trust her instincts very much, given that they had deceived her many times before.

Those same instincts had been signalling her that maybe she needed to take things slower. Joan had felt that her relationship with Adam had been stuck in a downward spiral as they were reaching the end of junior year. She felt it had something to do with everything that happened during their time together. Joan's disease and her summer away in crazy camp, Judith's death, and all of those things. It was too many things put together.

Maybe it also had something to do with the fact that Adam had believed her that she spoke to God, and he never ceased to believe it, even when she never spoke to him about that again. Joan had never wanted to bring him into it; she couldn't reveal anymore to him or get him involved in any way, because she was afraid of what that might mean, of what that might do to them.

But it was true. There eventually came a time when she couldn't pretend things hadn't changed. She needed to revaluate her relationship with Adam, revaluate her relationship with God. And revaluate herself.

Her break up with Adam had been the hardest thing to do, and to overcome. But later they realized they could still be together, as friends, things became normal again, and Joan thought they were back to happy.

That is, until some time later, when she realized she missed him. She missed his kiss and his arms, and she missed hearing him tell her he loved her. During the summer, she was back to that butterflies-in-stomach state when she was around him, and craved his attention. She was glad that he hadn't shown much interest in other girls during all that time, just like she hadn't tried to get involved with any other guy. Especially when she couldn't stop thinking about him. But she was unable to bring herself to discuss with him their current situation and her questions on where they stood, and if there was a chance that they could be back together.

However, she couldn't avoid it any longer. She wanted to be back together with Adam. The question now was if he wanted the same.

* * *

Joan lay in bed for the longest time. She couldn't sleep, but she wasn't fully awake either. Her eyes stung because she was tired and because she had been crying. She raised her head from her tear-stained pillow and looked blearily at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was six thirty two. Her parents and her brothers were most likely home already. Nobody had come looking for her.

She couldn't muster the energy to get up, much less leave the room. She took one of her shoes off and threw it at the door. The heavy-soled shoe hit the door noisily and fell to the carpeted floor with a soft thump. Joan lay on her back and waited. Promptly, someone knocked on her door. It was Kevin. Joan mumbled to him to come in.

The door opened, sending a rectangle of yellow light cutting through the darkness of her room. Her brother's silhouette was outlined by the light behind him as he wheeled himself in. "Are you okay?"

Joan looked at him, upside down from her position on her bed, and frowned. "You're smart, Kev. What does it look like?"

Kevin chuckled lightly. "I know, that was a stupid question; I'm sorry," he said. "Is this because of your imminent punishment? I know mom and dad haven't officially grounded you or Luke yet. But I heard them talking downstairs, and they sounded pretty rational and calm. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

Joan gave an exasperated sigh. "This is not about that. I—" she stopped herself short. "I don't want to talk about it." She grabbed her pillow and put it over her head to shield her eyes from the harsh light flooding in.

"Oh, no, please, don't asphyxiate yourself. I'm sure it's not worth killing yourself," he said jokingly. "Anyway, I came upstairs originally to let you know there is someone downstairs wanting to talk to you."

Joan lowered the pillow to her chest and looked at Kevin. "Who?"

"I don't know. Some guy."

Some guy. Surely not Adam. For one thing, Kevin would tell her if it was Adam. And Joan highly doubted that Adam wanted to talk to her so soon.

"He's waiting outside on the porch," Kevin added before leaving the room. He closed the door behind himself and Joan was once again immersed in the bleak darkness of her room. She lay there motionless for half a minute, before rolling out of bed.

She stepped out the front door, looking around for her visitor. She didn't care if her hair was tousled, her face tear-stained and her eyes puffy; she had an inkling now of who was visiting her, and her appearance was not so important then.

Sure enough, she found God sitting on the white wicker couch, in cute boy form with His trademark brown jacket. Joan wrapped her bed-wrinkled gray parka tightly around her body, shielding herself from the chilly evening air. She wordlessly approached and sat next to Him on the couch, not looking at Him.

"Now you ambush me at my own home?" she asked quietly. She didn't want anyone to hear their conversation from inside the house.

God wasn't looking at her either. His eyes were surveying the neighboring houses across the streets. "What are you talking about? I've come before, haven't I?"

"Whatever. I'm not in the mood to talk."

"I suppose you're not."

"Then why bother coming by?"

"Because I figured you would like to have something to take your mind off things," God said, and he continued before Joan had the chance to roll her eyes. "If I haven't mentioned this many times before, you need to focus more on your studies."

"Oh, yes, the drama of my decaying grades is the perfect antidote for depression," Joan replied.

God ignored her comment. "If you really want to go to college, you better take this school year very seriously. It's essential that you try your best, because this is your last chance."

"You sound like a career counselor. Boring and not at all encouraging."

"There is a very important assignment coming up. You need to give it your best effort and do well in it. Keep that in mind."

"Why is this one so important?"

"All assignments are important."

Joan sniffed. "You know, you're supposed to be merciful and all that. People turn to you for comfort. I'm having a terrible day. Where is my comfort?"

"People find their own comfort. I'm actually like a placebo."

"A placebo is a thing that is not the real thing. Are you saying you're a fake?"

"If I tried to set things straight every time you misinterpret my words, we wouldn't get much else done."

Joan ignored the fact that God had pretty much just called her dumb. "All I'm saying is that I would appreciate a few words of consolation from the all-knowing Almighty. Is that too much to ask?"

"The best comfort anyone can get is seeking and finding solutions for themselves," God declared. Joan frowned at Him.

"Easy for the all-knowing Almighty to say."

"Joan, are you out here?"

Joan turned toward the front door at the sound of her mother's voice. Helen walked through it and approached.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

Joan turned to God. She had been half-expecting Him to vanish into thin air or something the moment Helen appeared. But He was still there, sitting next to her, grinning innocently. Joan glared at Him.

"Well, he was just leaving anyway," Joan said. She stood up and pulled God to His feet along with her.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met," Helen said to God. Instantly, they both turned to Joan, expectant.

"Oh, yeah, this is…" Joan glanced at God puzzled, but God only smiled politely, waiting for her to introduce Him, "this is, um… Josh. He's in my history class. He's new at school," she lied. "Erm… Josh, this is, well, evidently, my mom." God and Helen shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Girardi. We were just briefly discussing an upcoming assignment," God said.

"It's nice to meet you too, Josh. I'm so sorry to cut your meeting short, but there are some issues the family needs to discuss before dinner."

"Not a problem. I think we cleared everything for the moment. Right, Joan?" He looked meaningfully at Joan.

Joan seemed amused. After all, it's not every day that one gets to see their mom interacting with God while He is pretending to be a regular teenage boy. "Right, yeah," she said, snapping out of it. "Mom, if you don't mind, I just need to check one last thing with Josh and I'll be right there."

"Sure," Helen said. However, she didn't motion to leave. Joan had to lead God halfway to the street until they were out of earshot.

"God is a liar," Joan said in a know-it-all tone, grinning superiorly at God.

"Technically I was telling the truth. We were discussing an upcoming assignment. _Your_ upcoming assignment," God replied, equally know-it-all. "Besides, you're the one who gave me a fake name and all."

Joan glared at him again. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Introduce you as God? As if I didn't have enough of Mental Acres."

"I guess I do look like a Josh, don't I?"

"You're supposed to leave when people are near."

"Still embarrassed of me, Joan?"

"Well, it is a bit embarrassing to have people see me with a good-looking guy and then have them find out I am not romantically involved with him. But that's not the point," Joan shot back, her cheeks blushing slightly. God couldn't help but smirk.

"Keep focused. The best way to find solutions is if we tackle one thing at a time."

"Again with the 'we'," Joan said, rolling her eyes.

"Bye, Mrs. Girardi!" God waved to Helen.

"Bye, Josh!"

God gave Joan a sympathetic smile. "Have a nice weekend, Joan." He turned and headed to the sidewalk, toward the right. Joan stared after Him, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, fun weekend," she said sarcastically. "I'm getting grounded. Because of you!" She yelled the last bit as He walked away. She would have yelled a few other things at Him, even when He disappeared beyond the neighbor's hedge fence, but Helen was still nearby. Joan spun on her heel and went back up to the porch.

"Ok, mom. I'm ready for you to dictate sentence," Joan declared in her best martyr voice. She opened the front door, but Helen didn't follow her. She was staring in the direction God had gone, squinting curiously.

"How odd," she muttered.

"Mom?"

"It just hit me. Your friend Josh looks exactly like God looked like in a dream I had little more than a year ago."

Joan was dumbfounded. "Huh?" But a second later, she remembered.

"I told you about that dream. It was that day you were hospitalized with Lyme," Helen explained. "The previous night, I dreamt I was in a church, and God was sitting nearby. He looked exactly like that boy, even the same corduroy coat. And then He transformed into you." Helen chuckled when she said that, just like she had the first time she described her dream. Joan had been worried then, and she was worried now. She didn't like the idea of her mom seeing God. Not in the same way Joan did.

"Oh, well, you've probably seen him before. And in your dream, God looked like him," Joan lied.

"I thought you said he was new," Helen inquired. Joan thought quickly.

"New at school, not new in town," she replied. Helen nodded in understanding before going inside. Joan blew a sigh of relief and followed her mother into the dining room, where the three Girardi men were waiting. Will looked sternly at Luke, Luke in turn looked grim and sullen (or maybe just sleepy), and Kevin was quite detached. Joan took her seat next to Luke and gave a sigh of resignation. She saw Kevin giving her a sympathetic smile; much like God had done a moment ago.

_This is not my day,_ she thought miserably as her parents got ready to speak.

* * *

Wow, this turned out to be quite a short chapter (in comparison to the others), and yet this has been the worst writer's block I've had to overcome so far. It could've been worse, though. I've been reading Milan Kundera; for those who haven't had the privilege of reading his work, he can make you feel very, very insignificant as a writer. He is brilliant. I would say falls into the category of "romangsty" (that's my own word), which encloses the aesthetic romanticism and the realistic existential angst of human beings, no matter the epoch in which you live. If you haven't read him, I encourage you to do so. But bear in mind, I'm serious; if you're a writer, you'll feel tiny.

Mike: you _are_ tiny. I mean, literally.

Alexz: Silence, nincompoop.

In the darkNess


	14. Nature's cruel, she laughs at me

Apparently, thirteen IS, after all, an unlucky number. That was the last chapter I posted before being hit by a month-long writer's ten-story brick wall that kept me knocked out of action, up to the point when I, in fact, did forget completely that this story ever existed or that I was the one writing it.

But thanks to my trusty agenda and a very scary threat letter from my beta reader (a.k.a, the Original Chemist), I'm back on track.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

Chapter Soundtrack: "Believe me, Natalie" The Killers, "Run" by Snow Patrol, "Break you" by Marion Raven, "My friend" by Mojo, "Rain city" by Turin Brakes, "Sunshine" by Keane.

* * *

The Beginning of the End 

-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Fourteen – Nature's cruel, she laughs at me

* * *

"Well, I feel bad, Joan. I really do." 

Jordan stroked Joan's back comfortingly while Joan had her face buried in a burgundy cushions. The girls were spending Saturday afternoon in Jordan's house, munching on homemade cookies and brownies and sipping soy lattes. They were supposed to be studying for an upcoming Biology quiz, which was the only reason Joan was there in the first place (the excuse worked on Helen, and Joan was able to get out of the house and see her friends, even if it was for studying, at least it was more entertaining than sitting in her room moping). But Joan had needed some comfort for her current status, and she had spent a lot of the time telling the girls about her fight with Adam. Of course, she hadn't told them absolutely everything, but enough for them to get the picture.

"Forget it, guys, it's not your fault," she mumbled through the cushion. She sat up, her hair cascading messily around her shoulders. "Besides, it doesn't even matter anymore."

"Well, if only we had known how things would turn out, we could have prevented this," Jordan said.

"Jordan, nothing could have prevented this. It was just how it was supposed to happen," Joan corrected.

"Still, we could've _not_ dragged Adam along if we had known it would upset you. But we're not bloody psychic. You should've given us a heads up," Carolina clarified.

"I believe I told them you'd be pissed, but no one listened," Grace declared.

"Well, you didn't do much to help, either. You were with me when we snuck Skywalker our of his house, and in any case—"

"Let it go, girls. This isn't about the concert anymore. And I'm not upset with you or anything. I'm just…" Joan trailed off. "I just wish I could make it all right."

Her eyes focused on one of Jordan's black and white pictures. It was a snapshot of Remy and Jordan, sitting on the mossy stone railing of what looked like a bridge over a river, much unlike Venetian bridges over the canals. On this particular scene, it was raining, and Jordan held a black umbrella over their heads, trying to smile at the camera while Remy was placing a kiss on her cheek. Joan smiled at the picture. But it made her feel nostalgic. She realized she had never taken many pictures of herself and Adam when they were together. Or when they were just friends, for that matter. It felt like she was willing to forget him at any given moment. No pictures meant less excuses for not letting go.

"Light up, Joan. Things _will_ be alright. You just have to find a way to work things out. Don't wait for things to be worked out by themselves," Jordan said.

"That's a funny thought," Joan muttered, because she knew God always had a hand in everything. And ironically, He sometimes insisted in bringing her in too.

"What do you mean?" Jordan asked.

"Never mind," Joan replied.

There was a knock on the door and Erika stepped into the room. "Sorry I'm late. I got caught up watching a documentary about ocean life."

Caro looked at her skeptical. "Yeah, ok. When you say 'documentary about ocean life', you're actually referring to…"

Erika's narrowed eyes darted from side to side. "_Finding Nemo_," she confessed in a low voice, with a sniff of contempt toward Carolina. "It's a great movie, okay? Don't ever doubt that. It takes place in Sydney." She cleared her throat. "So, what have I missed?"

"Joan had a fight with Adam," Jordan replied.

"Oh. Sorry to hear that, mate," Erika said.

"Let's just talk about something else, please," Joan sighed exasperatedly.

"No, wait, Joan," Jordan said, giving Joan a pleading look. "Listen, I hope you don't think of me as a nosy person, but you confided on us with your problem and I think the least we can do is give you some advice, even if you don't use it."

"Okay then! Who wants to go first?" Caro exclaimed cheerfully, as if this were a game of some sort.

"Why wouldn't she use our advice? Are we not good at giving advice?" Erika inquired in an indignant tone.

"Fine, I'll go first," Caro said, since no one answered her.

"No offense, Weston, but I would be a bit wary about taking love advice from someone who's plotting evil against her father by dating his fiancée's son," Grace said.

"You're one to talk, Grace; you're the daughter of a rabbi and you're going out with a science geek and your dates consist mostly of supposedly secret make out sessions in the biology storage room. Talk about a match made in heaven," Erika retorted smugly.

"Joan, the first thing you need to understand is that guys are very dense, even someone like Adam, who is obviously much more perceptive than the average guy. You need to be straight-forward to get the message across," Caro continued, ignoring the bickering sub-defectives nearby. "So, I think we should set you up with another guy, preferably a really good-looking one, and then you just give it a couple of weeks and presto! Adam will come back crawling and begging for you to take him back. Because guys don't realize what they've got until someone else is having fun with it."

Erika and Grace stopped calling each other names and turned to Caro, dumbfounded. "A set-up? Seriously?" Erika asked.

"Hold on, Caro. First of all, that's a really bad idea. Second of all…" Jordan paused to think. "Nope, enough said. That's a terrible idea."

"Says who?" Caro demanded.

"Can we get back on track here, please, before I lose my grip? The advice sucks, we get it," Joan exclaimed grumpily, throwing up her arms. "Anyone else? And please, keep any demented romantic-comedy movie subplots out of the question."

"Before these three stooges started their repertoire," Jordan said, eyeing the other three girls, who glared and huffed contemptuously, "I was going to say that you should give Adam some space. He obviously feels like he needs to think things over, and so do you. But I think the best thing you can do is just let him settle down, get some things straightened out inside his head, and then you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel, be honest."

"I thought I already tried talking things out. Do you think I would be sitting here with you discussing this if the talking had worked out?"

"Let me finish," Jordan said. "What happened yesterday was probably like opening a can of worms. Neither one of you was really in tune with your own feelings; and maybe, because of that, both of you said things you really didn't mean. But now that some things have been vented, it gives each of you the chance to try to sort out those feelings. And be able to speak more clearly and sincerely to each other."

"And how am I supposed to know when it's been enough time for him and me to reflect on our feelings? How do I even know if he actually wants to talk about this anymore? From our last conversation, I get the distinct feeling that he's rather fed up with me," Joan retorted gloomily.

"Oh, don't say that. Guys just love to be all melodramatic," Erika said. "Trust me, he'll get over it."

"Well, if he doesn't want to talk, then the least that he can do is listen, and you do the talking. He has to know how you really feel," Jordan said.

"I still think you should hook up with someone else. Let him turn green with jealousy for a while, until he's prepared to do something about it," Caro commented. Jordan rolled her eyes and murmured something in Italian under her breath.

"I don't know," Joan sighed. Jordan had probably hit the nail right in the head, but she also made everything sound so simple.

"I wish things could just go back to the way they were before. I mean, we weren't the perfect couple, but somehow we managed to string it all together."

"Until someone got sent to Mental Acres," Grace mused.

"I said we weren't perfect," Joan glared at her friend.

"What couple is?" Jordan said. "Joan, you can't expect nothing will ever go wrong in a relationship. Whether things are complicated or just very plain, too much of one thing or the other can really make things difficult to endure. But just because your relationship becomes tough, that doesn't mean you're going to give up on it, does it? Those are the times when you really show character, when you work to solve things for the best."

"Are you saying that I made a mistake when I broke up with him the first time? That I gave up on it?"

"No. Not necessarily. I mean, I think you should always try to work things out, but you can't force these things either," Jordan explained. "You just do what you think is best."

"Sometimes I think those choices are not up to me anymore," Joan said somberly, her eyes fixed on the black and white picture again, but not really seeing it at all. Jordan looked at her in confusion, wondering what she meant, when someone knocked on the door.

"Giordana, it's Jeremy on the phone," said Mrs. Canavaggio, poking her head into the room. Jordan stood up and went to take the cordless from her mother's hand.

While Jordan got immersed in her chat with her boyfriend, the other three girls just continued stuffing their faces with brownies and cookies and arguing about the Biology quiz, for which they had not studied at all during the whole time they had been there. Joan continued to sit still, eyes lost, thinking things over and over again in her head. She wanted to believe what Jordan had said was applicable to her situation, but she sometimes doubted it. Because many times she couldn't be sure whether events were following their own course, or whether she was forcing them. She had a tendency to be wrong about these things.

Her eyes scanned the room and came to rest on Jordan's painting of the devil. She thought back to the day when she had smashed Adam's bizarre sculpture to keep him from dropping out of school. At the time she had been confused, thinking that it might have been the devil impersonating God and asking her to do something awful. She had been even more confused when was trying to sort things out with Adam.

People turn to God in times of distress or uncertainty, looking for answers and solutions. Perhaps Joan alone understood that divine intervention has an entirely different purpose. And knowing that didn't make her feel any better.

* * *

Monday morning, Joan rolled out of bed, took a long, cold shower, dressed listlessly and skipped breakfast, dreading yet another day of school. Her legs felt heavy as she treaded her usual path to Arcadia High. She had spent all Sunday pretty much confined to her own room, pretending to do homework while replaying her argument with Adam over and over again. Then she had decided to ponder on what Jordan had said the previous day. Easier said than done. Joan felt it would be a long time before she would actually be able to have a heart-to-heart with Adam again. 

"Sleepwalk much, Girardi?" Grace asked. Joan came out of her daydream to realize she had arrived at school unaware. She was walking alongside Grace as they both entered through the double doors and into the busy corridors.

"You better get that taken care of at a sleep clinic or something. Who knows where you might wind up one of these days, or what your head might bang against," Grace joked. Joan shook her head.

"I don't sleepwalk, Grace," Joan said, and ironically bumped her knee into a trash bin at that instant. She winced and grimaced and ignored Grace's funny look.

Monday first period was, as always, insufferable, except for the sort of Luke, Glynnis and Friedman, who were the only ones sprite with Lischak's constant cha-chaing around the booths in a flurry of metaphoric scientific jargon and vigorous hand gestures; no one else in the sleep-fogged class was paying much attention, and Joan was feeling miserable as usual. It felt like Friday morning repeating itself all over again. Except that Adam wasn't there.

Glancing sadly at the empty seat beside her, Joan sighed disappointedly as the bell rang and the students grabbed their things and ran for it.

"Did you talk to him?" Jordan asked quietly, walking up to Joan, who was stuffing some books in her locker.

"No," Joan said half-snappy. "He didn't show up for AP Chem. And besides, even if he had, I'm not going to talk to him here at school. It's not… appropriate."

"Good point."

"I don't even know if I want to talk to him yet. It's too soon," Joan added, heading for the English Lit classroom with Jordan, and Caro in tow.

"Whatever. It's up to you. But if you think about it, it's been a whole weekend," Jordan said. Joan bit her lip and shrugged.

"Don't listen to her, Joan. Give him the silent treatment. That really sets them off," Caro said. Both Joan and Jordan glowered at her.

"Caro, you and your ridiculous advice are henceforth banned from any present and future conversations with Joan about Adam, under penalty of blasting you into oblivion if you don't keep to yourself," Jordan warned her cousin, who recoiled. Joan had to smile at the two.

"It was just a suggestion…" Caro said in a small voice.

"I would really appreciate it if we could spend a few hours of our productive day speaking about something else un-related to the tabloid soap opera of Girardi and Rove. Maybe he didn't come to school today because he thinks he's coming down with something, seeing that his ears have probably been buzzing all weekend with you lot talking about him non-stop," Grace declared as they all sat down together in the classroom.

"Isn't a tabloid soap opera kind of redundant?" Erika asked.

"Don't worry, Grace. We're done talking about… that," Joan announced, as the teacher began speaking about The Divine Comedy and its author, Dante Alighieri, and Jordan murmured something about her friend Dante's last letter from somewhere in South America. Joan wasn't hearing her or the teacher, as she was left wondering, a bit worriedly, why Adam hadn't showed up to school.

"Aaah, Mr. Rove, so nice of you to join us," Mr. Abbey said as Adam walked into the classroom fifteen minutes late. He took the note from the principal's office and pointed Adam to the seat in the last row. Joan tried not to follow him with her eyes as Adam trudged to the back of the classroom without looking at her, or anyone.

"Speaking of the devil," Grace muttered to Jordan. Joan was glad to see him, however. At least she knew he was fine. But that didn't make her feel any less worried.

_He's not mad at you, _she told herself, trying to reassure herself. _He's just thinking. _She shook her head clear of concerns and spent the rest of the class trying to keep from glancing over her shoulder at his bowed head four rows away. She didn't absorb a single word about Dante and his journey through heaven, hell and purgatory.

"You need to stop looking at him, you're going to give yourself a stiff neck," Erika said when the bell rang for the end of second period, and the students began filing out. Joan had peered over at Adam, discreetly looking at him out of the corner of her eye, as he just sat there while everyone left. He was obviously lagging behind, waiting for everyone to be gone, before he would get up and follow. Maybe he didn't want to run into her "by accident" or otherwise.

"I'm not looking at him," she replied, her eyes still on Adam. Erika made whooshing sound and murmured "_riiight_". The group of girls wadded out of the classroom and into the congested hallways.

"Seriously, it's not healthy. There are better neck exercises you can perform. Like…"

"Head banging?" Jordan volunteered.

"Exactly."

"You mean like at a concert or against a wall?" Caro asked.

"I'd like to do the latter, now that I think about it," Joan said grumpily. "And please, do not mention concerts to me."

"My apologies for cutting into your chick chit-chat. But I've been missing you all morning, _bella_," Remy said, appearing suddenly and kissing the back of Jordan's hand.

"Oh, we don't mind. We were just heading to social studies. Coming?" Jordan replied with a smile.

"Well, of course. Otherwise Price might get overzealous with detention slips. I don't need that," Remy said.

They entered the social studies classroom, and found Mrs. Jones writing some important dates on the chalkboard. The rest of the students gradually poured in and took their seats, and finally Adam dragged himself last into the room, again not looking at anybody. He plopped into the nearest empty seat, which was only one seat away from Joan. She decided to ignore him too. Thinking about him was starting to give her a headache.

The teacher turned to the class and began speaking. "Ok, listen up, class! We have an interesting group project coming up, and I want each of you to really put your head into it and show me how ready you really are for college. This will be like a trial for what's to come; thesis, reports, research papers, the whole repertoire," she explained, sounding rather excited, while the students looked at each other with apprehensive faces. "Consider yourselves lucky; you will be treated and graded like college students, so you'll be prepared for when you actually get there. _If you ever do,_" she added in a macabre tone.

"Did she look at me when she said that?" a voice behind Joan whispered in terror.

"So," Mrs. Jones clapped her hands in anticipation and surveyed the class amusedly, "I'm going to assign each one of you a partner, and then I'll assign the topic for each pair. You have to investigate, present a good essay supporting the information you found, and I want you to present that in class, a week from now, because it will give you a chance to inject your opinion and choose a stance. You have to back up your own opinion, you can even have a different opinion than that from your partner, and then we will have a debate."

Joan started wondering if this might be the important assignment God had been referring to, and before she could stop herself, she wondered if by any stroke of luck (or an itty-bit of divine influence) she could end up getting paired with Adam, but she quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. If she would have to confront Adam, she wanted it to be a different situation than that of being pushed together for a social studies investigation.

"Here we go," said Mrs. Jones, pulling out her roll call sheet. She held a finger over the sheet of paper and brought it down and followed by reading the name her finger had landed on. "Richard Livingston and…" she repeated the same movement with her index, "Erika Weston, you both are handling…" she scanned another piece of paper on her desk and tapped her finger on it, "Celebrities in reality TV shows."

Erika looked at Richard, a stringy River Cuomo look-a-like who was sitting diagonally from her. "That's an odd topic for a social studies class," Erika mumbled. Richard just shrugged.

"Giordana Canavaggio and… Rosalind Evans, you two are covering…" the teacher grinned as she read from the other list, "The Da Vinci Code hype. That should be fun for you, eh, Ms. Canavaggio?"

Jordan smiled back, then frowned in confusion, having no idea what the teacher might have meant by that.

"I think she might be under the impression you're a fervent Roman Catholic and a fervent Da Vinci Code hater, or something like that," Grace said.

"Funny. That's actually one of my favorite books. Dante would be quite entertained," Jordan said.

Remy was paired with Grace and they were given the topic of nukes and the latest campaigns for their eradication; Angela Marks and Daisy Walters had to write about Islamism; and Kenji Atama and Leslie Goldstein were covering the murder of President Kennedy.

"Joan Girardi…" Joan held her breath at the mention of her name. _And Adam Rove, _she thought instinctively. _Adam Rove. Adam Rove. Say Adam Rove. ADAM ROVE_.

"… and Hans Tørgen," she exhaled quietly, disbelief and deception washing over her face for a split second, before realizing her newly assigned partner, who was sitting next to her, right between her and Adam, had just turned to look at her. She managed a smile before her eyes wandered a bit past Hans at Adam, whose eyes were fixed on the teacher.

"You will be investigating… eating disorders," the teacher announced. Somewhere in the suddenly quiet classroom, someone choked and started coughing.

"And finally, our two remaining students, Carolina Canavaggio and Adam Rove, will be telling us about ecotourism."

"Ok, so that's it. You know what you've got to do, and you will present that a week from today. I want no excuses. Now let's move on to today's lesson."

And while Mrs. Jones opened a book and started lecturing, Joan continued to wonder if this could have anything to do with what God had said. Eating disorders? Da Vinci Code hype? What exactly did those topics have to do with social studies? And what could be so important about them that God would want her to become involved?

"Psst…"

Joan turned her neck to find Caro shaking her fist at her, gesturing for her to grab. Joan opened her hand and Caro dropped a crumpled scrap of paper into her palm. Joan uncrumpled it when the teacher wasn't looking and read the not scribbled in Caro's messy handwriting:

_I know you didn't agree with me at first, but maybe the situation will make you change your mind. Isn't it absolutely perfect? You've been paired with this good-looking guy, and I was paired with Adam. Now's your chance to spark jealousy in Adam. And I can help you because I will be spending time with him! Do you think he will be torched if I casually comment that I think you and Hans make a cute couple, and that I'm not the only one who thinks so? Because you do. This just might work! Think about it._

Joan finished reading and turned to Caro with a look that plainly said "you're off your rocker". She crumpled the note again and stuffed it in her pocket, intent on paying attention in class. But Hans Tørgen was facing her now, smiling amicly. He was from Norway; Joan had known him since last year when he transferred from a school in Massachussets, and he was, truthfully, very good-looking, with dark wavy hair, caramel eyes, and the brightest smile Joan had seen since the first time Troy flashed his pearly whites. She couldn't help smiling back.

"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Hans Tørgen. It's a pleasure," he said, holding his hand out to her. Joan took it and smiled bigger. Since she had never really spoken with him before, she hadn't realized he had a charming norwegian accent, that made him even cuter.

"Joan Girardi. Likewise, indeed," she managed to say, trying to give him a firm handshake. "I guess we'll be working together."

"Yes, I'm sure we'll manage to make it fun. We will be a good team, won't we?" he asked.

Joan couldn't keep herself from stealing a glance at Adam, who was decidedly looking at the teacher, perhaps pretending to pay attention, even if he probably could hear (or eavesdrop) what Joan and Hans were saying. Or maybe he really was focused. Joan didn't know, but for a fleeting second, Caro's idea didn't seem so crazy after all. In fact, in the present situation, it seemed brilliant.

She smiled again at Hans. "We'll make an excellent team," she replied.

* * *

Speaking of teams, shouts out to my brilliant support team, Jake, Seth, Joey, Anne, Mike, Harry, Kasz, Eduardo, Vero, Joshua, April, Janem, and Tory for the inspiration of the insufferable sister (who will be making more significant appearances in the future). Much love to my beta readers, Joey, Seth and dear Chemist. I'm probably not going to be back for a while, but I'll try my best to stay on track, at least in the meantime, but I make no promise, seeing as I'm having a ton of schoolwork coming up, final projects, I'm doing overtime at work, my boyfriend is on vacation, my sister is starting to plan her wedding, my family is visiting, and the new Harry Potter book should be arriving at my doorstep at any moment now. Aw, hell. I'll put it this way: I'll stay on track. I promise. You can choose to believe me or not. 

Mike: Thou shalt not lie so shamelessly in the face of The Almighty Chemist.

Alexz: Yeah, okay. Smite me, of Mighty Smiter. And leave me alone.

In the darkness


	15. Isn't it good Norwegian wood?

Well, I finished Harry Potter in record time: three days (in my defense, it was not that long). And I have the scary feeling it would've been less hadn't I had so much to do over the weekend. I have a friend who finished it in one sitting (now _that's_ scary) Seth has inevitably gotten himself hooked on the books, too, and is now reading Goblet of Fire, because he says he doesn't want to read the first three books since he already saw the movies, and I had to use all my willpower not to whack him over the head with the Order of the Phoenix, which I believe must be the largest volume of the series. It would have caused him too much damage, and I don't need any more anger management. Kudos to the brilliant J.K. Rowling for bringing us yet another amazing installment which, in spite of the fact that I was outraged by the ending and felt like chucking the book into the farthest, dustiest corners of my dwelling, is tantalizing, and the characterization is as exquisite as the plot is absorbing.

Mike: enough of your lame wanna-be-journalist critic jargon. Just talk like a normal person. Wait, what am I saying? You're not normal. Just talk like yourself.

Ahem, moving on _(throws Order of the Phoenix, Goblet of Fire AND the Half-Blood Prince at her beta reader's head, hopes that it will cause enough damage, and then sits innocently half-expecting the anger management people to burst through her door)._ Now that my mind is off the anxiously-awaited-for-such-a-freaking-long-time book, I can go back to this fic. Took me long enough, considering that I didn't have such a workload this end of term, but I've been caught up with some other things. A new quarter has started, I now have a couple of night classes, work has been driving me out of my mind, my boyfriend has too much time in his hands, and I have been watching too much TV.

Chapter soundtrack: "Life is what you make it" by an unknown artist; "Falling down" by Avril Lavigne; "Outside chance" by The Turtles; and of course, "Norwegian wood (this bird has flown)" by The Beatles.

* * *

The Beginning of the End 

-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Fifteen – Isn't it good Norwegian wood?

* * *

Joan was humming to herself, something that she didn't do often, not even distractedly; she was just not the humming type. She was only doing it while perusing the titles on the library bookshelves, searching for tomes with information about eating disorders, trying to seem focused, which was not really all that easy when Hans Tørgen was walking right behind her, doing much the same. It also didn't help that Adam was in quite proximity too, sharing a table with Carolina only a few feet away, as they conducted their own investigation about their own social studies topic. 

It was only Wednesday, lunch period, and surprisingly enough nearly everyone in Mrs. Jones class was getting a head start on their own research, when the most likely scenario would have been the majority slacking off until Sunday, Joan included. But both she and Hans admitted to be procrastinators, and they agreed this time to be responsible and get this out of the way as soon as possible, to stay out of trouble.

But keeping out of trouble was not something Joan was any good at, and she wondered, getting increasingly anxious, what new kind of trouble she would have to face this time around, with God's latest puzzling assignment. Looking instinctively over the rows of books, her eyes scanned the entire work tables' area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Almighty in one of His many forms, preferably one she was already familiar with. She needed to find out soon what exactly she was supposed to do.

"Go with the flow."

Joan gave a quiet yelp and jumped in surprise, knocking a few books off the shelves. God had just popped up next to her, in a shape she had seen before only once; a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked dark hair and strict-looking wire-rimmed reading glasses placed halfway down her long nose. Librarian God gave Joan a smile with Her thin lips, age lines spidering out of the corners of Her eyes as She did. Joan did not return the smile, instead looking around to see if anyone was around. Hans had disappeared into another section of the room. Joan put a hand to her chest in relief and glared daggers at God, whose smile did not waver.

"Can I help you with anything specific you might be looking for?"

"I insist: are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Joan asked, still holding her chest.

"Of course not; you are young and your health is perfect. Why would I want to ruin it?" God said, as She and Joan knelt down to pick up the books that had fallen to the floor. "You were looking a little lost, and it is my duty to help."

Joan hoisted the books in her arms and stood up. "I was looking for you," Joan retorted. "As if you hadn't known that already, Almighty pop-up-in-the-most-opportune-moment God."

"I don't pop up. I'm always around," God corrected. Joan mumbled a feeble "whatever" as she put the books back in place. "And you shouldn't be looking for me. You're supposed to be looking for information for your social studies report."

"How can God even say that? Do you realize there are millions of people out there looking for you?" Joan said, crossing her arms, bent on changing the subject.

"Precisely because most, rather like you, don't yet understand that I'm always around. And that I'm the one looking for them, but they're the ones who don't let me find them," God said.

Joan paused as someone walked past the aisle, then continued. "Let's not deviate from the reason I was looking for you in the first place. I'm flying solo, and I'm doing it blindly. Can you give me a few more hints? And quickly, please? I've got a social studies report, as you mentioned."

God shook Her head in disbelief and turned to leave. Joan was nonplussed for a split second before she followed God.

"Hello. Did you not hear me? I'm flying blindly and I'm going to crash. I need directions," Joan demanded, trailing God for half a step. The librarian moved between the rows of books, apparently doing whatever it is a librarian does during work.

"You don't need directions. You just go with the flow," God said, not looking back at Joan. "You know, you take a chance, you seize and opportunity, and you just go with it, wherever it takes you."

"That's flying blindly," Joan pointed out. "Do you _want_ me to crash? Because I can easily manage that with my eyes closed, or open, or anyway really. And that's a metaphor for 'Joan gets in trouble way too often for doing what God tells her to do'. It's the awful truth."

God stopped and faced Joan. "Who says it's supposed to be easy? Things don't always go as you want them too. Precisely that is how you learn, because you acquire experience from the mistakes you make. Knowledge can't always come from books. Those are just records. True knowledge comes from real-life experience. Success and failure, love and heartbreak, life and death. Pay attention, Joan."

Joan began to ponder over those words as God went behind the librarian's desk, from where She was supposed to pretend She was busy and shush anyone speaking too loud, while solving a crossword puzzle. Joan was about to go over and clarify what God had just said, when Hans appeared in front of her, carrying several heavy medicine tomes with dark, weathered leather-bound covers.

"There you are. Found anything good?" he asked upon seeing Joan.

"Umm, no. I think I might have been looking in the wrong section," Joan responded.

"Oh, well, no problem. I think I've found plenty. Shall we?" he said, gesturing toward an empty work table, in between the one where Carolina and Adam sat, and the one that Jordan and her work partner, Rosalind Evans, occupied. They put their things on the tabletop, and as she was taking her seat, Joan noticed the very pointed stares from both Carolina and Jordan. She ignored them and joined Hans at leafing through the books.

They spent the next half hour taking a few useful notes, but mostly writing down information about each book they "consulted", just to add to their bibliography and make it more impressive, since they had decided most of their searches could be done over the internet, which saved them time and money for photocopies. Joan was getting anxious already, having spent that half hour barely concentrating on what she was supposed to do and spending most of it merely darting looks at Adam's table. Neither he and Carolina nor Jordan and Rosalind had left yet, looking much more diligent as they darted back and forth from the copying machine and took massive notes. They even checked out a couple of books. By the time Hans and Joan had gotten bored and decided to leave, these other two teams looked like they were just getting started.

Joan gathered her things ready to go home, while Hans went to put the books back in their respective section, and she just waited for him to come back, standing in front of the table, only a few feet from Adam, whose back was facing her. She tried not to look at him, but it was difficult. His indifference toward her made it even more impossible to forget why he was being indifferent in the first place. Or maybe he was just really busy with what he was doing?

"Joan, I think we should get together sometime."

Joan looked away from the top of Adam's head as she realized Hans was standing in front of her. "Get together?"

"Yes, one of these days, maybe Saturday, if you haven't got any plans. We can go somewhere, we can talk about our project, but we can also just talk and hang out."

Joan was a bit taken aback, and it took her a moment to process what he had just said. Here was this cute, sweet guy and it sounded like he just asked her out. Was it a date or was it just a friendly invitation? All she could think for a moment was Adam, and whether he could hear them or not. _Who cares?_ she told herself. _You do_, her conscience answered stubbornly.

"Sure, Saturday seems fine," Joan said barely giving her words a second though. A split second later she almost regretted it; she had no way of knowing if she had in fact just accepted a date with a boy she'd known for only two school days.

"Great," Hans said with a charming smile. "There is this great little café on Roschman Street, I don't know if you've been there already. It's called Chestnut Café," he continued.

For some reason, Jordan and Rosalind chose that precise moment to start having a whispered conversation, which was very distracting, not to mention uncomfortable and rather embarrassing, considering Joan was positive they could hear what Hans and her were saying, and that was most likely what they were being so chummy about.

"Nope, haven't heard of it. Sure we can go there," Joan replied. She was suddenly feeling slightly giddy, forgetting all about the dark-haired boy sitting with her back to her only a few steps away. The cute guy from Norway was asking her out, and it didn't matter whether it was only a friendly meeting for discussing homework, she wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.

"Alright, then. It's a date," Hans said.

Joan was befuddled again for a split second. So it was a date after all? She gave herself a moment to think before she might end up saying anything stupid. She found herself looking at Jordan and Carolina, who were looking back at her with very pointed stares, as if they were giving her not-so-subtle glares. Yes, they had heard everything. Why were they angry at her? Strangely enough, she realized she was also getting a pointed look from Rosalind. Joan didn't even know that girl. Had Jordan been sharing stuff about her with a complete stranger?

Carolina lowered her gaze to Adam, who still had his head bent over a book, poring over the contents as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever laid eyes upon. If Carolina had heard, then Adam most definitively had heard too. And he still pretended to have his mind elsewhere completely. Joan almost glared at him. She wished he would snap out of it and say something, yell, argue with her. Anything but this indifference. But if he wasn't about to do anything, then she was most certainly not taking the initiative, either.

"Joan? Saturday afternoon, then?" Hans asked again.

God caught Joan's eye, and suddenly made an undulating movement with Her hand, as if describing a wave. Joan immediately understood what She meant: go with the flow. Whatever that meant. At this moment, it meant go with the situation. Let the moment lead you. That was her best guess. Once again, she evaded her friends' meaningful looks and a nervous feeling at the pit of her stomach, and smiled at Hans.

"Yeah, it's a date," she said.

* * *

Thursday was a depressing day for Joan. Adam still didn't talk to her, or even look at her, and now Carolina and Jordan's attitudes toward her seemed to be rather iffy. It was unbearable to spend the whole boring day going from class to class and having them throw dodgy looks her way every so often, and having no clue why. Grace kept saying it was their European strangeness manifesting, and that they would probably get over it eventually, but that was definitively not a plausible idea. 

"Just ask them, will you? And shut up about it already. The world doesn't revolve around Joan Girardi," Erika said bluntly after Joan had asked, for the umpteenth time, if anyone knew why everyone was being so cross with her. She, Joan and Grace were sitting at the entrance steps of the school building during lunch hour, while the rest of the gang was nowhere to be found.

"I know it doesn't. But today it seems to be all about having a problem with me," Joan replied, sounding hurt.

"Well, I didn't have a problem with you until now, seeing you've managed to annoy me," Erika retorted. Seeing Joan even more hurt by her words, Erika's expression softened. "Look, if we don't know anything either, then we're not much help. The only ones that can tell you are either Jordan or Caro. You know them, right? Jordan mostly. I don't know about Caro, since she's new, but Jordan doesn't seem the type of person who holds out instead of talking things over."

"I guess you're right," Joan said.

"I'm always right," Erika assured smugly.

"I just wish I had a clue," Joan mumbled. She ran a hand through her hair. "This is worse than that time I destroyed Adam's sculpture and he was mad at me and didn't speak to me for a long time, again, and everyone thought I was crazy."

"Everyone still thinks you're crazy, don't they? Can't be all that different this time around, except there are no smashed sculptures involved," Grace pointed out. "Maybe it's got something to do with that Norwegian guy, and the fact that you're going on a date with him."

"Who says it's a date?" Joan asked.

"You did," Grace and Erika said in unison.

"Alright, fine," Joan replied. "But why would they be mad at me for that? Unless they like him or something. And Jordan's got Remy. Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Do you think Carolina likes him? No, wait, that can't be it. She's the one who suggested I flirt with him to make Adam jealous. All I did was follow her advice a little bit."

"Maybe that's precisely it," Grace pointed out.

"Yeah, hadn't we decided that was a terrible advice?" Erika added.

"You mean you think this is because of Adam? Is this about me going out with Hans to make Adam jealous?" Joan asked, hoping to shine some light onto this issue. It made sense and yet it didn't.

"Could be," Erika shrugged. "Can't really think of anything else."

"But why?" Joan asked again.

"Well, Jordan and Caro may be friends with you, but they're also friends with Adam, aren't they?" Erika tried to explain. "Maybe they don't want to see him hurt. And even if they understand you're hurt too because of all this, they realize that your crazy, farfetched, The-O.C.-style plan for jealousy is going to hurt him more. And maybe they don't want that. Caro probably didn't think you'd pay attention to her ridiculous off-the-wall scheme in the first place, so now you did, it was kind of a shocker."

"Very deep, Weston. You're so Oprah," Grace said sarcastically. Erika frowned in confusion.

"Who's Oprah?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not. Is that another one of your Americanisms?"

"Never mind, _mate_."

"Don't you _mate_ me, _yo_."

"Don't you _yo_ me, _mate_."

Joan got up and walked away before she had to hear any more of that absurd argument. She set off to find either Jordan or Caro and clear things up once and for all with them. God may differ, but Joan was starting to be sure that every time she did His bidding, she got into some sort of tight spot with someone.

* * *

"Jordan, why are you mad at me?" 

Jordan lifted her head in surprise at the sound of her name, and nearly splashed cold water down the front of her white tank top (what a terrible thing to happen to a girl) as she had been drinking from the water fountain. She wiped a little water that nearly dripped from her chin and looked up at Joan, who was standing next to her, looking frazzled.

"Mad? Who says I'm mad?" Jordan asked in confusion.

"You've been ignoring me and giving me odd looks all day," Joan countered.

Jordan appeared even more confused. "No, I haven't," she responded indignant. "You do realize we've only had about two periods together, right?"

"Okay, but you _have_ been giving me odd looks. Since yesterday at the library. You actually looked appalled."

Jordan sniffed, raising her eyebrows in understanding. "I'm not mad, Joan. I was just shocked. You could say I'm still shocked."

"Shocked at what, exactly?" Joan demanded.

"Yesterday at the library. You accepted a date with Hans Tørgen."

Joan put her hands on her hip. She realized Grace and Erika had been going along the right track. But Jordan's attitude was still a puzzle. "So?"

"So… you're going out."

"What's so wrong with going out with Hans? He's available. I'm available. It's just one date."

Joan eyed Jordan, who only slightly avoided her gaze. A kid came up to them and practically pushed them both out of the way to get to the water fountain. Joan sniffed in contempt and pulled Jordan to the side, away from the big ears. "Do you like him or something? Do you like Hans?" she whispered, knowing that was a question that shouldn't be asked very loudly.

"No!" Jordan exclaimed with wide eyes. "I mean, he's cute and very nice. But I'm with Remy," she added with a smile.

Joan continued to gaze intently at Jordan, trying to read her face. "What are you not telling me? What is this really about?"

Jordan paused to clear her throat. "Um, I am not at liberty to say."

"You sound like a doctor."

"Yeah, sorry," Jordan was starting to fidget. "But trust me: I'm not mad at you," she added again with a smile.

"Then tell me what's wrong. What did I do?" Joan asked, getting impatient.

"Sorry, Joan. If you don't know, then I can't tell you."

"Well, I don't know."

"Well, I can't tell you."

Joan's shoulders slumped in defeat. This was obviously not going anywhere. "Okay, well, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please, forgive me," she said, putting on her best apologetic puppy-dog face.

"You didn't do anything to me," Jordan shook her head.

"Then why are you mad at me?" Joan stomped her foot.

"I told you, I'm not mad at you," Jordan repeated.

"Then what is going on?"

Jordan looked pained now. "I can't tell you, I'm sorry. I made a promise to keep it a secret."

Joan sighed. "But this isn't fair. How am I supposed to apologize or try to make up for whatever I did if I don't know what I did, or to whom?"

"I guess you'll find out eventually," Jordan shrugged. Joan sighed, and Jordan gave her an apologetic smile. The bell rang and the hallways got really crowded. They had Calculus next, and then final period. And Joan was still not feeling any better.

"You're really not telling me, are you?" she asked.

Jordan shook her head. "It's not my secret to tell. I mean, I wouldn't want you to give away my secret, would I? And if I can't keep this secret, why should you keep mine, right?" she explained. Joan mulled over those words. They hadn't talked about Jordan's kleptomania or her father's abandonment at all since Joan had found out. Joan understood that if Jordan could trust her like that, then she or anyone else should be able to trust Jordan the same way. Joan sighed again, and they started walking toward their respective lockers.

"Okay, fine. Why is Caro mad at me?"

"That I don't know. You'll have to ask her. But I don't think she's mad at you either."

Joan waved her hands dismissively. Somehow this revelation wasn't making her feel all that better, considering it was barely a revelation if Jordan didn't give much away. "Fine. Fine, don't tell me. You just said I would find out eventually. How am I supposed to know _what_ I will find out eventually if I don't have a clue."

Jordan gave her a sly smile. "You'll see. I think. Just pay attention, Joan," she said and winked, then ran to catch up with Remy, who was clowning around with some guys. Joan was left standing, wondering why Jordan often sounded so much like God. _Coincidence_, she told herself, not wanting to imagine another strange plot of God's, like when He pretended to be a crazed stage coordinator for that disastrous zombie musical. Which only made her flashback to all the disastrous other events that had been going on ever since the cute boy with the brown jacket showed up at school and introduced Himself to her.

And this time, neither God nor Jordan in this case, had even given her a hint about what she should pay attention to. So, like many, many times before, Joan wandered toward Calculus wondering what in the world was going to happen to her next.

* * *

Whoever can point out where I got the name Chestnut Café deserves a steamy cup of victory coffee. (And if you know the answer, you know the prize doesn't even exist, and if it did, it's not really a good prize. Sorry.) 

And Librarian God is a version I had made up for my other JOA fic, "Brand New Day", in case you wondered (I highly doubt it). I just mentioned Joan had encountered this version of God before just cuz I felt like making a teeny tiny reference to my previous fic, but I don't actually want to imply that the events of Brand new day are connected to or follow up into the events of this one, as someone suggested I could try. That would make everything much too confusing, seeing as Adam meets God in that other one. Let's just leave it at that.


	16. Serendipity

I'm not going into my usual rant. This chapter is already long enough as it is.

Author's note: Chapter dedicated to my good friend Faramuax for reasons only obvious to those who know her. Read on and you'll find out what I'm probably referring to, tho. We love you, Faramuax!

Chapter soundtrack: "To be loved" by Curtis Stigers; "The sweetest thing" by U2; "Get over me" by Marion Raven; "Bury me with it" by Modest Mouse; "Stay you" by Wood; "Rachel's flat" by Badly-Drawn Boy; "Screaming infidelities" by Dashboard Confessional; "Fall to pieces" by Avril Lavigne; and "St. Patrick's Day" by John Mayer.

* * *

The Beginning of the End 

-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Sixteen – Serendipity

* * *

By the end of the week, Joan thought there couldn't possibly be anything else going wrong with her life. 

"Large pepperoni and tomato pizza with extra cheese."

"No! No! No! That is not what we ordered!" Joan moaned, holding her head in exasperation.

The pizza delivery guy stood on the front porch of the Girardi residence, holding the pizza box in his hands, eyeing her oddly, as if he'd never seen a frustrated teenage girl wearing pyjamas, a makeshift blanket around her shoulders and an overdone bed-head look, at 6:30 p.m. on a Friday night.

Jordan appeared behind Joan and patted her on the back. "There, there. Now let's not drag the poor pizza guy into the soap opera, shall we? We'll take it anyway," she said, taking the box and handing the guy the money. "And we won't give him a tip for that mistake. Feel better now?"

The pizza guy looked at the money in his hand and frowned. "I know I don't," he mumbled sourly.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you brought us the wrong pizza!" Jordan shouted, and slammed the door in his face.

Joan dragged herself back into the living room after Jordan, the blanket trailing behind her. Her brother had invited most of the gang over to help him and Joan survive another Friday of house arrest, and a few of them obliged, considering there was nothing else better to do. Jordan and Remy brought a bunch of rentals, Carolina tagged along, while Grace showed up for lack of wanting to die of boredom alone in her own room. So now the whole gang, minus Erika and Troy, who might swing by later, Adam, of course, and Luke's friends, was holed up at the Girardi's living room eating junk and watching DVDs.

"I told you we should have called KFC," Grace complained, as Jordan dropped the box onto the coffee table. Luke opened the lid.

"But I thought we _did_ order this," he asked puzzled.

"Well, I wasn't going to correct Joan. We did save ourselves the tip, after all," Jordan replied with a mischievous grin. She glanced at the pizza and frowned.

"What is that? Lean meat?" she asked, pointing at something round and reddish on the slice Grace now held.

"It's pepperoni," Grace answered matter-of-factly. "Honestly, J.C, I thought you were Italian."

"That's not pepperoni," Jordan exclaimed, giving Grace a weird look.

"It's not?"

"No," Jordan shook her head with a smirk. "Pepperoni is a vegetable. It's sweet pepper."

Grace stared at the slice she was about to take a bite from and looked uncertain. "Okay, I had no idea."

"Wait, so you're telling me that you call _this_ 'pepperoni'? Wow, Dante will never believe this one. You Americans crack me up," she said, laughing uncontrollably.

"Well, just because we've called it the wrong name all this time doesn't mean it's something different. It's still meat, and it's still good," Luke pointed out. He proceeded to take the formerly-known-as pepperoni wedges off his pizza slice and put them on the side of his plate.

"Hey dork, if it's still the same, why are you taking them off?" Grace asked.

"I decided to postpone the ingestion of these things until I have conducted a full research to determine this ingredient's proper name and origin, and what it can do to us."

"Okay, well, that sounds about right… whatever you said," Jordan said.

"Joan, would you cheer up, for crying out loud? You're ruining 'boring Friday night stuck at home with nothing to do' ambient, with your skulking around," Grace exclaimed, nudging the lump under the blanket on the couch, which was really Joan lying in a fetal position, taking up most of the sitting space. The lump grumbled.

"Ominously boring Friday night, that is," Carolina said, emerging from the bathroom. She looked disappointedly at the pizza box. "I thought you said you ordered pepperoni pizza. What is that?"

"Ok, I can't eat this anymore," Grace said, pushing away her plate.

"I'll take it," Remy said, his eyes coming unglued from the TV screen as he channel-surfed like a bored nine-year-old, whisking the pizza slice from of Grace's plate.

"Dask, stop hogging the remote so we can all watch something already. We're growing mold here," Grace said, snatching the remote control out of Remy's hand. She sorted through the pile of rental DVDs. "Okay, what's it going to be, people? Depressing flick, war flick, corny romantic comedy flick, awfully long epic battle flick, awfully long epic battle flick sequel, gross comedy flick, flick with lots of fast cars that explode, flick with swords and lots of gore, or… Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?" She paused at the last one and gave Remy a sideways look.

Remy looked slightly embarrassed. "It's a really good movie."

"I say we watch something funny, even if it's the type of funny that makes you drop a few IQ points. All in favor say 'aye'," Carolina suggested.

"Aye," said four unenthusiastic voices. The lump underneath the blanket emitted a feeble moan.

"Joan, come on, lighten up. We're dropping IQ points laughing like idiots. Join us!" Remy said.

"Yeah, you don't want to end up bumming us all out, do you?" Luke added.

"Nice one, Buddha," Caro said sarcastically.

"Joan? Is there something you want to talk about? Away from these clowns?" Jordan asked, approaching the lump. Joan's tousled head poked out from under the blanket.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine," she said in a sarcastic tone.

"Okay, well, you just sit there and continue to feel fine, and we're going to watch the "movie"," Grace said, making the quote gesture with her fingers.

"Oh, God, just looking at the cover you can tell it's an insult to the film industry and human reason. I don't know if I'll make it through," Luke exclaimed horrified.

"Well, you dragged us into it by inviting us here, so suck it," Carolina said.

"You guys go ahead. I'm not in the mood for snorting over gross jokes and no plot. I think I'll just go to sleep," Joan said, getting up suddenly, blanket still strapped firmly around her shoulders.

"It's not even 7:00!" Caro exclaimed. "You're such a party pooper."

"Exactly what party are you referring to?" Luke said.

"Silence, my precious," Caro hissed at him, eliciting chuckles from Remy, Jordan and Grace. She rounded the couch and grabbed Joan's arm to pull her away from the onlookers. "Joan, is this about Adam? You can't let yourself be depressed because of a guy. You should feel happy and act silly and have a good time, even if it's ripping a terrible comedy apart on a Friday night stuck at home because your parents grounded you, which, let's face it, it's short of amusing," she said making a face. "Look, I know you guys have a history and all. But you shouldn't let yourself get dragged down because of him. Ask yourself, is it really worth it?"

Joan thought about it for a moment. "It is," she said softly after a few seconds. "But sometimes I think it's too much."

"What I'm trying to say, Joan, is that you should try to make yourself happy, whatever that means. You have a date tomorrow, and I know I was actually the one who suggested you do something like that, and to tell you the truth, I never really thought you'd go through with it. And I admit I feel bad for Adam, because he's my friend too. But I think you should go on your date and enjoy yourself. And whatever happens after that is up to you."

Joan was surprised. After the jealousy plot, Joan hadn't actually thought of Caro as someone who could unleash emotionally like she had just done, and who could actually give decent, meaningful advice. "So you weren't mad at me for what happened at the library?" she asked.

"Mad? No. Appalled? Yes. First, because I know it must've stung Adam; I could see it in his face. And I honestly didn't think you'd even follow my advice. But I think what you did may be good for you. For Adam too, maybe. It's a chance for both to think over what you might be missing. Just don't think of it as revenge, or it could turn sour."

"You're right," Joan muttered. "Thank you, Caro. Hey, and if you're right about tomorrow, it may mean you crazy plan for jealousy might just work."

Caro laughed. "Did you hear that, guys? My masterful plan might just work," she said, rubbing her palms together in evil mastermind manner.

"Way to go, Dr. Evil. Now settle down," Jordan said.

"I'm still going to my room, guys. And I'm taking the Rocky Road with me," Joan announced.

"Aw, Joan, come on. What happened to the whole pep talk Canavaggio just gave you?" Grace asked.

"It was fine. I still need to be alone. I need to think. I can't think much if my IQ is dropping due to stupid humour."

"Seriously? You're sure you wouldn't rather take your mind off things for a while?" Jordan asked in a concerned tone.

"I'm just so… blegh. There's just nothing that can make me laugh right now," Joan replied with a shrug.

"Can I try?" Remy asked. "A man and a giraffe walk into a pub, they start drinking and get wasted, and the giraffe passes out on the floor. Then the man gets up to leave, but the bartender calls after him and says: "Hey, you can't leave that lyin' there!" And the man says: "That's no a lion, that's a giraffe"."

Joan almost smiled at that joke, but she just sighed. "Thanks for trying, Remy. Really. That was actually quite funny. But seriously, I just don't feel like laughing now."

"How about this: two peanuts walk into a pub. One was assaulted."

"Let it go, Remy," Joan said over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen to fetch the ice cream.

"Aw man, I really thought I could rip a smile from her," Remy muttered. Jordan just patted his back and they all finally turned their attention to the movie that was starting to roll. Joan could go ahead and have her alone-thinking time, which she admitted to herself, was likely to turn mostly into shoveling-ice-cream time, because she really didn't want to think things over any more than she already had, and she was just looking for an excuse for shoveling ice cream. Tomorrow would be a long day for her, anyway, and only God knew for sure how it would turn out. And He was not telling.

* * *

It took Joan all Saturday morning to recover from eating the whole pot of ice cream before bed, and all breakfast (during which she just sat at the table looking sick while watching her family eat) to convince her parents that her afternoon date with Hans was exclusively for studying, therefore she should be "released on parole" for the day. Luke was surprisingly helpful, backing her up during the discussion, even if he knew it meant she would get to go out while he didn't. Joan became very suspicious, wondering why her brother would support her at a situation like this. But she wasn't about to ask, lest he would change his mind. 

After lunch, she started getting nervous. She hadn't been on many dates before, and the last one had been with Adam, their first real date since they had become a couple. It was not an entirely pleasant memory, considering it had been the night Judith had been murdered. It pained Joan to just remember how perfect everything should've been, and how terribly wrong it all ended. For some time, Joan had sort of thought that, ever since that somber evening, things had unexpectedly and unnoticed begun to unravel for her and Adam. It had everything to do with how Judith's death affected them, especially Joan, who had been her only real friend; Joan had felt lost for so long, questioning everything. She believed it was such a significant event; it was only understandable why it had such a strong impact on her relationship with Adam. It was one possible explanation.

But Joan had to admit to herself, as much as she disliked it, things for her had been unraveling long before that. Everything was too much for her, and everything just added itself on and on to make even more for Joan to try to handle, impossibly, and then she lost her grip. That was the reason why she had to go to Mental Acres. It was a chain reaction: meeting Adam, falling for him, being diagnosed with Lyme disease, meeting Judith at Mental Acres, Judith's death. And all the issues her family had gone through; the lawsuit from Kevin's friend, and his terrible last few relationships; her mother's search for spirituality; her father's stressful job; Luke and Grace.

And then there was God.

It was like she was His mini-circus: He would hand her many, many objects of all shapes and sizes, sharp or blazing, and she would have to juggle for Him. And every once in a while, she wouldn't be able to keep the objects in the air and they would just crash to the floor unceremoniously.

Juggling also reminded her of Judith.

"Jordan, I don't think I can go through with this."

Joan lay on her bed, feet propped against the wrought-iron headboard. Jordan had called her on her mobile to check up on her, and Joan was glad to have someone to talk to. She had spent all night thinking, barely getting any sleep. How was possible that something as simple and innocent as a date could get her into so much turmoil?

"Joan, I thought we'd gone over this. Or at least you went over it with Caro," Jordan said.

"Yes, and I know she's right. I just don't know anymore," Joan replied. "I shouldn't have accepted. I've run myself into a corner. It was a stupid thing to do; I'm only causing more problems between me and Adam."

"But you can't back out of it now, can you? What about Hans?"

"This isn't really about Hans. We were supposed to be just work partners," Joan said. There was a silence from Jordan's end of the line, before a sigh could be heard.

"Look, Joan. I'm going to be honest with you, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I understand what you're going through and how you feel bad about it. But you're really giving this whole issue too much importance. Nothing has happened," Jordan began. "All I'm suggesting is that you try not to hurt Hans's feelings. He´s a great guy, and he's in this for a completely independent reason than you, and I don't think it would be fair that you drag him into you own dilemma. You should just go and get it over with, and you can deal with it later. What's so wrong with taking chances? It's not going to be the end of the world."

There was silence again. Joan played with a strand of her hair while Jordan's words sank in. "I just wish sometimes that Adam wasn't so…" she trailed off.

"Soft-spoken?"

Joan sighed again. "I was going to say meek, but yeah." She sat up and started pacing. "It would be so much better if he could sometimes be more vocal. I just wish I knew, at least to a certain extent, what he thinks about all this."

"Since when does it matter what his opinion is? It's yours that count. You're the one making the decisions. He can mind his own business, right?"

Joan decided Jordan was right after all. If Adam was not going to display anything verbally or physically or telepathically or however else, then she was not going to sit around and sulk, waiting for him to finally show some sign of awareness. She was going to dress up and go on her date. This was a chance to take her mind off things, and especially a chance to get out of the house that her parents had confined her to for God knows how much longer. She would not let that chance pass her by.

Hans called her around three and they agreed to meet at the café at four. Joan felt butterflies in her stomach as she chose what to wear. Did she want to look really pretty, just casual, or normal? What would Hans go like? Was this a serious date, or just a regular afternoon meeting over coffee? It took her a half hour to settle upon an outfit finally. An off-white top and cardigan, lavender skirt and ballerinas would have to do. She pinned back the hair on the sides of her face with beaded pins, and put on just a bit of makeup. She was sure she looked nice, but the butterflies in her stomach did not leave her alone.

"Bye, mom! I'm meeting Hans already! I'll be back early!"

Helen barely turned around in her seat at the breakfast table to watch her daughter race through the kitchen. The back door slammed a split second later, and Helen turned back to her mug of tea and her book. She briefly pondered over Joan's violent mood swings as of late, and wondered how much longer it would be going on for. Last night she was completely down, and ate a whole pot of ice cream, and now she seemed upbeat again. Today's outing most likely had nothing to do with school, that was for certain, but Helen wasn't about to dig any deeper; and she really didn't feel like keeping Joan from going out anymore. Her daughter's strange behavior hardly ever presented a logical explanation, but Joan seemed to be better when she was free to be herself, to do things her own way and for her own reasons. And Helen didn't like thinking of her daughter as a jailbird. The Gentle Acres experience was not a pleasant one, it changed many things, not only in Joan, but in the whole family, and Helen firmly believed going through it once was quite enough.

* * *

Roschmann Street was surprisingly less crowded than usual, considering Saturday was the day of the week when most shops and stores would be bustling with activity. Joan slowed down when she got closer to the café. For some reason she was afraid to go inside. There was a music store right next to it; maybe Joan could kill off time while she waited for Hans to arrive. 

She wrung her hands. Where the butterflies had once been fluttering inside her stomach, there was now only a gurgling mass of nervous knots. Jordan had told her not to take things seriously; the problem with Joan was her inability to make good decisions, which eventually led to serious consequences. But there was no turning back. It was best to just get it over with. She needed to stop thinking about this as a torture or worse.

She turned away from the record store, and spun straight into someone behind her.

"Oh, God!" Joan exclaimed, smacking squarely into the stranger's face. Only God gave her starts like that, and once she recovered her breath, she was ready to sneer at Him. But her breath caught in her throat when she realized it wasn't God that had scared her like that. She had smacked into Adam.

"Oh, hey," she blurted almost incoherently. He seemed unfazed by the collision, and his expression was unreadable.

"Hey," he responded quietly. Joan let her breath go silently. She couldn't believe he had just spoken to her. She had half-expected him to brush past her as if nothing had happened, or as if she wasn't even there.

"Sorry I crashed into you," she continued, hoping for a conversation to spark.

"It's okay," he simply said. But as inarticulate as he seemed to be at the moment, he and Joan stood there, looking at each other; she tried not to show hopefulness, while he seemed to be waiting for something. It was only a split second, but it felt like years went by before she gathered her wits to speak again.

"Where are you headed?"

Adam pointed behind her. "Record store."

"Oh, neat," she said with a small laugh. But Adam didn't say anything. Joan bit her lip.

"What about you?" he asked, and Joan felt a lump in her throat. "Are you meeting your date soon?"

The flatness in his tone of voice struck Joan as odd and a bit frightening. She felt sad, and the knots in her stomach started getting rowdy.

"Look, Adam, it's not really what you think," she began, but she really didn't know how to continue. Adam chuckled, but he didn't smile.

"Since when does it matter to you what I think?" he replied half-heartedly. Joan looked pained; she searched for something to say, anything.

"You look nice, by the way," Adam added when she didn't utter a word, and before she could try to say anything else, he waved goodbye and walked past her into the record store. Joan wouldn't have been able to say anything at all; the lump in her throat had only gotten bigger, and she inhaled a shaky breath.

She suddenly felt very light and transparent, like a ghost.

Her eyes had begun to well up, when she saw Hans approaching. He smiled at her, and she mustered her most honest smile, blinking back tears.

"You'll love this place, they have everything for those with a sweet tooth," Hans said as he put a hand on her back. Joan threw a last fleeting glance inside the record store, at the head of black hair facing away from her, before she followed Hans into the café.

* * *

Chestnut café was smaller than Joan had pictured it, with round wooden tables and wrought-iron chairs cramped in the perimeter; it was dimly lit by tiny lamps on each table and a large chandelier hanging in the very middle, and even if it was still light outside and the afternoon sun poured in through the large windows, the yellow lighting gave the place a dark but cozy feeling. There was an unlit fireplace on one corner, with a couple of old armchairs and a couch surrounding it, old books strewn across the surface of an antique coffee table in the middle. The whole place had a very nice vintage feeling, and even the music playing quietly was a classic overture. 

They got a table near a window. Hans showed he was a gentleman as he opened the door for her, pulled her chair out for her to sit, and allowed her to see the menu first.

That was when it hit her. Joan hadn't brought anything with her. No money, not anything. It had just occurred to her, what if she and Hans had completely different concepts on the word "date", and he was not really paying for her stuff? How embarrassing would that be? She hid her mortified expression behind the menu.

"You can order anything you want. I recommend you try a slice of the apple crumble pie. It's awesome," Hans said; it was as if he had read her thoughts. She felt relieved; it _was_ that kind of date. Somehow that didn't make her feel at ease.

"That sounds good, but I'm not all that hungry. I think I'll just have a cappuccino and a fudge cookie," Joan said, not wanting to abuse his courtesy. She thought about Adam and how he had gone through so much trouble to make their first date perfect, how he had been so chivalrous in spite of the nerves. Joan smiled at that memory, but shook it out of her mind quickly.

Hans picked up his menu and scanned the items. "I've been looking up a lot of websites on eating disorders. I think we might be about done with all the information we would need to gather. All that's left is putting it together for the report," he said, glancing at her. Joan put her menu down and crossed her arms on the table.

"Oh, we can talk about that later. Let's just chat. I barely know anything about you," Joan said while smiling at him charmingly. "Tell me about yourself."

"Okay, well," he said, closing the menu. "My family is from Drammen, Norway, but I grew up mostly in Bergen, which is by the Hardanger Fjord. We came here when I was eleven, and I lived in Maine. And when I was twelve we moved again, looking for a change of scenery. So we've been living here in Arcadia, and it's great."

"Nice. When I moved to Arcadia, it wasn't so great. I felt out of place, and I missed my old town," Joan interjected. "I got used to it, though; I made friends, I was okay."

"Me too," Hans agreed. "I was lucky to meet someone who made me feel better. She really—" he trailed off and bit his lip. "Um, I don't think I want to talk about that."

"Why not?" Joan asked.

Hans chuckled and shook his head. "It's just that… well," he looked away for a moment, then gave her a sheepish smile. "She dumped me. About two weeks ago."

Joan's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. But don't feel bad. I understand. I actually got kind of dumped myself, just recently," she explained. She didn't mind sharing her problem about Adam with Hans.

"Kind of?" he inquired.

"It's a long story."

"Mine is, too, so I won't bore you with it. I'm moving on. I haven't shared this with anyone. It was confusing, though; to be honest I never understood what happened."

"That sucks," Joan said. "Do I know her?"

Hans scratched his neck. "I'd rather not tell you who it is."

"Come on. We're sharing heartbreak stories here. What would be the big deal? Tell me, who is it?"

Hans hesitated for a moment. He wasn't looking at her. "Rosalind."

"Rosalind?" Joan echoed, but noticed his gaze. He was actually looking past her, at someone who had just appeared at her right shoulder. Joan peeked around to find Rosalind Evans standing there, wearing the Chestnut café employee's canvas apron over an emerald green dress. She held a pen and notepad and looked from one of them to the other with a rather disbelieving expression as if she wanted to say something but preferred to hold it in.

"Oh, hi… Rosalind," Joan said with an awkward smile. Rosalind eyed her with narrowed eyes before she put on a smile.

"Welcome to Chestnut café. I'm Rosalind and I will be your waitress for this afternoon. It's a pleasure to inform you that we have a wider selection now of tea infusion flavors; and today's special is our home-made chestnut apple pie," she said in a fake cheerful tone. "Are you ready to order or would you like a few more minutes?"

Joan stared at her blankly, fighting a smile. She didn't know Rosalind worked at the café as a waitress; in fact, she didn't know much about Rosalind at all. But even so, it was weird to have a classmate speak to her so formally, even if she was serving them. She looked at Hans, but he didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Umm, it's nice to see you here," Joan began, trying to be friendly. "I didn't know you worked here. But then again, this is my first time coming here."

"May I take your order?" Rosalind said, as if she hadn't heard Joan.

"Er, Rosalind, come on, you know us from school. You don't have to be so formal," Joan requested with a congenial smile.

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?" Rosalind asked, now looking positively out of character. Joan nearly recoiled. Why was Rosalind being so rude.

"Rose, don't be like that," Hans replied.

"Hans, don't call me 'Rose', okay?" Rosalind said in an even tone, barely hiding her contempt.

Hans sighed. "I'm only trying to—"

"May I take your order, _now_?" Rosalind interrupted him, forcefully polite. Hans was hesitant again. He looked uncomfortable.

"Um, I haven't decided yet," he muttered.

"Okay, I'll come back in a few minutes, then," Rosalind exclaimed, switching back to customer service. "Excuse me." She walked away, tossing her long dark curls over her shoulder. A few seconds passed before either Hans or Joan could utter a word.

"Did she seem weird to you?" Joan asked suspiciously.

Hans was shifting in his chair. "Um, I didn't notice."

"Cuz, you know, I barely know her. I highly doubt whatever seems to be bothering her has anything to do with me. Or maybe you know something?" Joan asked pointedly.

"Maybe she's having a bad day, that's all."

"She told you not to call her Rose. She was fuming, Hans. It seems to me there's an unknown story behind that," Joan continued. When Hans didn't say anything, either because he was too busy thinking of an explanation, or because he really didn't want to get into that subject, Joan understood undoubtedly. "She's the girl you were talking about, isn't she? Rosalind's the girl who dumped you."

Hans bit his lip again. "Okay, yes. I guess that would explain why this is kind of awkward." He cleared his throat. Joan stared at him, puzzled for a moment.

"So, if _she_ dumped _you_, why are _we_ here?"

"I don't know what you mean," Hans said. He wasn't good at lying.

"Are you trying to make her jealous or something?" Joan inquired, looking at him curiously.

"Jealous?"

"Coming here on a date, specifically to the café where your recent ex-girlfriend works? Don't play innocent," she scrutinized him, noticing the slight blush creeping to his cheeks. "Now I understand why she glared daggers at me when she overheard you asking me out at the library. Did you do that on purpose?"

"Joan, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't know she still worked here."

"I don't buy that."

Hans was about to say something, when Rosalind came back carrying a round tray with two glasses of water on the rocks. She placed one of the glasses on the table in front of Hans, banging it rather fiercely.

"Are you ready to place your order now?" she said, sounding polite but obviously flustered.

"Um, I'll have a French vanilla cappuccino and a fudge cookie. Please," Joan said. She looked at Hans expectantly.

"Er, I haven't really made up my mind yet," he stammered.

"Well, I guess that's the problem with you, Hans. You can't ever make your mind up about anything, right?" she seethed, then took the other glass of water and put it in front of Joan. But the heavy glass slipped from her hand and clattered sideways on the table, and the water and ice cubes spilled and splashed across the table and streamed directly into Joan's lap. Joan gasped, pushing the chair back quickly and jumping up to her feet, and the others gasped as well and stared at her in shock. The whole front of her skirt and cardigan were dripping wet, and the ice cubes bounced off her and onto the hardwood floor.

"I don't believe this," Joan groaned under her breath, brushing water off her skirt with her hands. She needed to go to the restroom. She gave Rosalind a deadly glare, and Rosalind only stared back, looking truthfully astonished, with her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. It was an accident—"

"Where's the restroom? Oh, never mind," Joan said, cutting Rosalind off, and she made her way to the back of the establishment. A few of the customers and members of the staff stared at her in surprise as she walked past, headed for the door to the restrooms.

"Miss, is everything alright?" asked the cashier worriedly. Joan waved her hand.

"Don't worry, everything's fine," she said, not even looking at her. She pushed through the swinging door and came into a little, dimly-lit hallway where the ladies' and men's room were located. She went into the ladies' room and locked the door behind her, leaning against it heavily. "Just wonderful," she said to herself with a sigh, breathing in the vanilla potpourri scent of the lavatory. If she had had no pride left at all, she would've curled up in the corner next to the toilet and cried until she felt like she could get over this. But she did have her pride, and she had to get over this now. What felt like a week that couldn't get any worse, had just grown to catastrophic proportions. And it wasn't even Sunday yet. How much longer could this God-forsaken week last?

She flipped on the light that hung over a Victorian era vanity next to the pedestal sink, and reached for a bunch of paper towels in the dispenser, to try to pat her skirt dry as best as possible. _An accident my ass_, Joan thought. Why did Joan have to get dragged into the middle of a lover's spat? And how could Hans use her like that? She knew he had only invited her there to show Rosalind that he was over her or something. It made her sick.

_Don't be a bitch. You know you're doing the exact same thing with Adam_, she said to herself, staring pitifully at her reflection in the mirror. She felt stupid; this sort of thing could only happen to her. She always seemed to bring it upon herself.

Joan pushed the face and hand dryer button, and pulled her skirt toward the stream of hot air blowing from the machine. How was she supposed to get out of that restroom now? She couldn't go back to the table and pretend like nothing happened; she would look like a fool. But she couldn't storm out of the café either, like she had no backbone. Truth was, she didn't care much about anything or anyone. She just wanted to get out of there fast, while there was still a chance to save face.

When her skirt and top were dry enough, which took a while, Joan checked her face and hair. Sure she looked a bit flustered, but maybe she looked fine enough to counter for the embarrassment she had just gone through. She decided she would proudly walk back to the table, thank Hans for the brief date, and leave to avoid any more "accidents" on Rosalind's behalf. Taking a deep breath, she turned the antique doorknob and stepped out. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a figure approached her out of the shadows.

"Joan, I'm so sorry about that," Hans said. Joan held a hand to her chest. If looks could kill, her eyes would've caused him spontaneous combustion.

"About what exactly?"

"About everything. You're right about Rosalind. She dumped me for no apparent reason, and I was mad. I just thought if I could show her I'm better off without her, and then maybe I would feel better. Just now I realize how immature it is for me to do that. I didn't mean to use you. That was not my intention, I swear. I really thought it would be nice to go out with you. I'm only trying to get over her."

Joan's expression softened. "You really like her, don't you?"

Hans sighed. "I really did. Maybe I still do. But I was really... I still don't understand what went wrong. And it's quite fresh, you know. Maybe I'm rushing things, but I thought I could really get over it by now, showing her that I don't care anymore. It just doesn't really make things any easier."

"I feel like an idiot," Joan began, mostly to herself than to the boy in front of her.

"I'm really sorry," Hans repeated.

"No, it's… not that. Never mind, forget it," she said. She wasn't about to tell him she was doing pretty much the same thing with Adam, it would be tactless.

"Considering that she's the one who broke up with me, I don't understand why she's acting like this, though," Hans continued. "I don't even know if there is something I did to get dumped, much less why she's being like this with me, and you, for that matter."

"Maybe it _is_ something you did, and she's feeling resentful," Joan said in a tone that suggested annoyance. Boys could get rather thick sometimes, even sweet guys like Hans. "If you don't want to get any closer to the wrong side of her, I suggest you talk to her. Did it ever cross your mind to find out why she decided to end things?"

He looked at the swinging door, considering what was beyond it. "I don't think she wants to talk to me at all."

"Don't be a wimp. You should demand an explanation. If she's going to give you the cold shoulder, at least you deserve to know why. You were a couple for how many years? Three?"

Hans nodded. "You're right. I should ask her."

"And in the meantime, maybe you can tell her that this isn't a real date, unless you want her to get any angrier," Joan said. "Just explain to her that we're only together because of that investigation on eating disorders. It's got nothing to do with her."

Hans started nodding again, but he stopped and his face lit up like he had just had a revelation. "Oh, my God," he whispered. "It all makes sense now."

"What?" Joan asked.

"I think I know why she started behaving strangely," he said under his breath. He wasn't looking at her, but his eyes were wide and his mouth agape. "But if that is the case… then I just don't quite understand why she broke up with me. Why she didn't try to explain the reason to me."

"That's why you need to talk to her."

"But I need your help. I need you to back me up."

"On what?"

"You know as much about the subject as I do," he said.

"What subject is that?" Joan asked, completely lost.

"Eating disorders."

Joan couldn't hide her amazement. Was he serious? Did he think Rosalind had an eating disorder? What exactly had led him to that conclusion? Rosalind surely looked like a healthy girl; not skinny or sick, just normal. And what did that have to do with him?

Hans stared at her expectantly. Joan just shrugged. "What exactly do you expect me to do, lecture her about it? How do you even know for sure she's got one of those?"

"I'm not absolutely sure about it, but I need to find out if I want to help her," he said. He took her hand and guided her toward the door.

"What makes you so certain she's going to accept your help?"

"Because she's going to get it, whether she likes it or not. Besides," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, "maybe if only I had realized what was really going on before, we wouldn't be in this situation." Before Joan could respond, he pulled the door open and led her out.

* * *

Rosalind was in the kitchen, fetching another towel to finish drying the water on the table and floor. When she came back to the table, Hans and Joan were sitting there, as if waiting for her. Hans beckoned for her to sit at the chair he had scooted over. 

"Can we talk, please?" he asked gently. Rosalind only gave him an odd look.

"Look, this has nothing to do with me, Rosalind. This is between you and Hans. I'm only here because he says he needs my support," Joan said, rather awkwardly. She couldn't believe she was being dragged back into the drama, after she had been so close to escaping. "So I'm just going to sit her and shut up."

Rosalind looked positively embarrassed now. She was debating with herself whether to continue to work or to sit and find out what Hans needed to tell her so urgently in the middle of her shift, with the girl she had just dumped water on sitting as if nothing had happened. Surprisingly enough, she finally took a seat without another word.

"Rose, we've been friends for a long time," Hans began. Rosalind could barely look at him straight. "We've been a couple for almost as long as that too. We've never kept things from each other. I always trusted you, and I thought you trusted me. What happened?"

Her eyes welled up. He didn't sound angry or resentful. He sounded hurt. She looked down at her hands and took a long time to think before she spoke.

"You want to know what's going on with me? The truth is I haven't felt like myself for a long time, and sometimes I don't even know what is going on with me," she said.

"You can tell me about it," Hans said.

"No, I can't. It's too awful."

"Please, try. I want to know; I want to understand."

There was another pause before anyone spoke again. Joan felt her pulse speed with the expectation.

"About a year ago, after the holidays, I gained some weight. Well, plenty, actually," Rosalind began, her voice very low and hoarse. "I promised myself that I would lose that weight. I worked out and dieted. I decided to get a job to be able to pay for a subscription at the gym and diet pills. That's when I started working here. But you can't work at a coffee shop and not eat sweets. When I started here, I gained even more weight, and all the things I was working to afford to lose weight were really not paying off. It became a vicious cycle. So I thought, maybe, if I threw up what I ate before it could make me fat, I wouldn't gain weight, and I'd be fine."

"Binging and purging," Hans muttered. That's when Joan noticed. Rosalind did look different. She had dark circles under her eyes, still visible beneath the concealer and makeup, and her skin was rather pale and dull.

"At times I was able to stop doing it, but I would stop losing weight, so I'd just start doing it again. I had found an easy solution. But then you said I looked different, that I looked sick, and that just pissed me off. I knew it wasn't good for me to do that, but after a while I couldn't stop at all. I just felt pudgy and disgusting, and for some reason I started believing that you liked me thin. I guess, the same way I felt different about myself, I thought you felt different about me too." A tear slipped from Rosalind's eye and left a trail on her cheek, washing away some of the concealer with it, and revealing the darker skin underneath.

Joan was too shocked to speak or breathe. Hans looked like he was about to cry. It felt like the coffee shop had disappeared around them. Rosalind sniffed while more tears made their way down her face. She brushed some of them carelessly with the back of her hand. "I guess I didn't want to be around you anymore if you were disgusted by me. Heck, I didn't want to be around myself. I felt gross and stupid. And I couldn't stop eating or throwing up."

"So you broke up with me," Hans interjected.

"I tried to keep a distance for a while, but you got angry about that. Yes, that's why I broke up with you. But that didn't make me feel any better. Because I felt like an idiot: I had made a big mistake, but I didn't know how to justify it. I couldn't just tell you the truth; that would have been awful and probably would've only made things worse. But I was still sad, and when I'm depressed I eat, and when I eat, I need to… dispose of it right away," Rosalind continued painfully, tears falling profusely now. Joan felt like crying too. She felt bad for this girl. Joan knew she could be self-conscious about her looks and weight, but never to such lengths.

"I felt stuck. I couldn't quit my job here, because I needed the money for the gym and the dieting pills. But if I kept working here, I would continue to eat. I couldn't stop throwing up because everything I ate made me feel sick anyway. And I couldn't try to explain this to you or anyone because it was too embarrassing. But not being able to tell you about this, talk to my best friend only made things worse. I felt lonely."

There was a long silence that followed this statement. Hans ran a hand through his hair, looking at Rosalind in disbelief. Joan just looked at him, waiting for his reaction.

"I can't believe you kept all of this from me," Hans said breathlessly, sad eyes fixed on the table. "I mean, I'm your best friend. Or at least was. Why didn't you trust me?"

"It somehow felt like you had stopped being my friend and became only my boyfriend. It's different," Rosalind said seriously. Hans was surprised.

"No, it's not. We were friends before we started going out. We had something extra special. Why should that change?" He took her hands in his. "Don't you realize that I think that you're the greatest, most beautiful girl ever? I don't care how much you weight or what size you are. I love you for who you are, anyway that you are."

Rosalind started crying again. Joan was staring transfixed at the interaction between the two. She felt like she was watching the climax of a romantic film, when the guy confesses his love for the girl. Then she blushed slightly when she remembered she was watching live and in full color. She took her cue to exit. Standing up quietly, she moved to the back of the store, and when she was a safe distance away, she looked over her shoulder. They were hugging. They didn't even notice she had left. Smiling to herself, she made her way to the counter and ordered her coffee and fudge cookie. After everything that had happened, she felt happier than she had in a while.

"Can I have a green tea large, please?"

A boy with shaggy dark brown hair and bright green eyes had walked in, unzipping the front of his black jacket. Joan had seen him before, but she couldn't quite place him. She smiled at him and he smiled back, sitting only a stool away from her while he waited for his tea.

"I just love reconciliations," he began saying suddenly. "It's especially great when you have a hand in it, isn't it, Joan?" he added.

Joan shook her head and chuckled. She knew she had seen this guy before. God turned on His stool to face her, and she just ignored him.

"It's been a weird day. Need I say I don't need you to drive me any crazier than I already feel? I just want to eat my cookie and drink my coffee in peace before I have to eventually come out of this state of mind and face the harsh reality again. It feels like quite enough already, I really don't think there's anything else that can go wrong for me right now," she said, not looking at Him. Just then, the girl at the counter came over to her.

"Miss, I'm really sorry. We're actually out of fudge cookies."

"Owww…" Joan bowed her head.

"Get her a chocolate chip cookie, then, please," God said. He looked at Joan and winked. "My treat."

Joan couldn't help but smile gratefully, and the counter attendant finally brought her a much awaited sweet, and also a French vanilla cappuccino and a green tea.

"So this is what you meant by 'go with the flow'? And how did I have a hand in this? I just sat there and said nothing," Joan started. God leaned against the countertop.

"There's no need to say anything. You just show support."

"That's cheesy. I pretty much had no choice."

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for."

"I just told him the truth. He is entitled to an explanation. It's just not fair for him to be left in the dark."

"It would've been great if someone could have told Adam exactly that."

Joan stopped chewing and looked at God oddly. The way He had said that, it almost sounded like He was trying to make her feel guilty.

"I could never have told him the whole truth. You know that," she replied, feeling hurt.

"It's still your choice."

"That's easy for you to say; you have all the answers," Joan said.

"It's not about knowing the answer to everything. It's about criteria. It's about one of the most important aspects of human nature,"

"Which one, specifically?" Joan asked.

"Dealing with change," God replied. He took a sip of the green tea. "It's obvious you felt that being away from Adam, putting your relationship on hold, could help you understand it better, see it from a different perspective, and then maybe feel more in touch with him and with yourself. Even if you explained that to him, it probably doesn't work the same for him. In Adam's case, staying close to you, even if you weren't 'together', helped him see everything from a different perspective. He never meant to drift away, and he still doesn't want to. He's just waiting for you to understand."

"Understand what?"

"The reason why you really want to be with him. What keeps you together."

It took Joan a moment to digest what God had just relied. She wondered if it was true, if that was the way Adam thought of her. It surely didn't seem like it. But God's words kept her hopeful.

She glanced at the front of the café, where Hans and Rosalind were still talking, quietly and closely, holding hands on the tabletop. "What's going to happen now?"

"They will be alright. You helped them find each other again. They have a lovely story together. I know today's chapter wasn't exactly charming, but it's all part of it."

Joan gave a quiet snort. "'Not exactly charming'," she repeated. "That's an understatement. I was totally embarrassed."

"You'll get over it," God said with a wave of His hand.

"If anything, I feel bad. I know too much about their private life now," Joan said.

"Well, at least you're good at keeping secrets, aren't you?" God was smirking, and Joan glared. She waited for the attendant to give them the bill and leave.

"Enough secrets already. I have my own to deal with. In fact, I have a huge one that right now looks like a Brit rock band geek vocalist who drinks green tea."

"It's still your choice. You decide if you can handle the consequences. I'm still here," He replied. He grabbed His cup and stood up, reaching into the back pocket of His jeans to retrieve a wallet. Joan watched in amusement as God produced a couple of bills and some change to pay the bill.

"And God said 'let me foot the bill'," Joan said, standing up and looking over. "And He was a lousy tipper."

God opened His mouth, apparently to say something in return, but He seemed to change His mind and kept quiet. They walked to the entrance together. Joan looked to her right; Hans and Rosalind turned to see her leaving, and they just smiled. Joan smiled back, feeling happy with herself. She had just performed a bit of matchmaking, and that was a nice idea. But she hardly wished she could do it again; it was much too complicated. She really didn't think of herself as a romantic person.

"Romanticism isn't just about love. It's about inner beauty and the beauty that each person sees and interprets in his or her own way," God was saying, knowing what Joan had been thinking; "it's about expression and communication and feelings; love and heartbreak and forgiving. It's about life and death; knowledge and mystery; joy and sadness; the magic and the miraculous. It's about everything human beings experience in this world. It's poetic even when it doesn't seem all that beautiful."

Joan and God stood at the door, looking through the crystals at the outside world. People walking, cars driving by, sounds and smells, the sky darkening slightly; so simple and yet so fantastic. Joan felt a bit like she had when God had given her a glimpse of the big picture. Overwhelmed, confused and ecstatic, like she was having a revelation. This picture only lay on the other side of the door; it was like she had been given a new set of eyes and was only starting to get things into focus. It _was_ very romantic.

"Do you know what 'serendipity' means?" God asked while they continued to stand there. "It's a fortunate discovery that occurs by accident. It's a beautiful, romantic way for people to say that perhaps everything is written, that anything and everything that people do may seem so fortuitous, but maybe it's all part of fate. Everyone's story has a beginning and an ending. Whether you believe in destiny or not, you just continue to live out that story. You'll never know the ending before you get there; what would be the point of knowing? What would be the point in getting up in the mornings and making choices? Ever skipped to the last page of a new book to find out how it ends before you have actually started it? You still read the rest of the book, don't you? Because it enriches you, it's enjoyable and thrilling, even if you know how it ends. What if you hadn't read that last page at all? It probably would've made for an even more exciting book, much more surprising, wouldn't it?"

Joan nodded in understanding.

"You make choices everyday, not knowing what might happen as a result of those choices. Things may turn out the way you want them to, or maybe not. But you still take chances. Because that is the only way you can know what is going to happen next."

God pulled the door open and walked out; as Joan followed, she saw Adam. He had come out of the record store and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk; he was putting a brand new CD into his Discman, and he sat down on a nearby bench at the corner bus stop. Joan took a deep breath and walked decidedly toward him. She was making a choice right now. She wanted him to make up his mind, because her own was already set. She wished they could be together again, she wanted to give it another try. She wanted to be open with him, whatever that implied.

His eyes were closed as she sat next to him, obviously immersed in the music. She brought him out of his meditation by plucking one of the earpieces out of his left ear and held it to her own. He just looked at her oddly while she listened to the music. Her eyebrows shot up.

"John Mayer?" she asked in surprise.

Adam held up the album. "It's relaxing. Besides, he's a good songwriter."

"I agree. I think his songs are very… romantic," Joan said, for lack of a better, more perfectly fitting word. She glanced at him and found him looking directly at her.

"Yeah, they are," he said with a nod. They sat there quietly for a moment, just listening to the angsty lyrics of "St. Patrick's Day".

"So… how was your date?" he asked tentatively. Joan bit her lip.

"I don't think I want to talk about that. It didn't go very well," she confessed, figuring it was best to be honest.

Adam was looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, no. Things worked out perfect, actually; for Hans. Oh, and Rosalind," she said. "You see, it was all a jealousy plot. He was trying to find the truth, and he got it. And it's all well. But that's all I can say."

Adam gave a sort of laugh. "Well, that's good, I guess," he said, and he was met by silence.

"I miss you."

Her eyes met his as the words left her lips. His expression was difficult to understand, but he held her gaze as if he was having trouble to understand her as well.

"I miss you too."

Her heart started beating a million miles per hour. She could hardly believe he had just said those words; she wanted to pinch herself to make sure it was true. But she was still worried.

"I know it's been hard. I know there's been a lot we've had to deal with. I don't think I handle things well most of the time, and that is why I sometimes feel like I need to get away. Sometimes I feel like running away," she said with a nervous chuckle. "But now I realize I've been trying to make the best choices all along. I can't predict if things will turn out okay. But I try to choose as best as I can. It helps me to figure out what I really want. And right now, I want to be with you again. You make me feel whole. I thought I could find myself easier if I cooled things down with you, but the truth is I've only felt lost and incomplete."

Adam turned off the music. Joan took it as a good sign that he was paying attention to her.

"I never intend to hurt anyone, especially not you. It just happens sometimes. And I'm always sorry. There's hardly anything I can do to really apologize and make everything right, especially in this case. But you're… you, and I'm willing to make up for my mistakes, no matter how long it takes."

She turned on her seat so that she was facing him completely. He only continued to look at her sideways.

"What we have is special, whether we're a couple or just friends," Joan continued. "I think that I've come to realize that a little late, but I know it now. I can't tell you I'm sorry a million times and tell you that I would love it if we could try again, and you may not agree with me or you may not forgive me. But you're still a very important person in my life, and if we can't be a couple again, then at least maybe we could continue to be friends. Because we're good together, and I feel lonely if I can't be with you. I don't know if you feel the same way, but it's all I can do: tell you how I really feel, and hope that you'll understand."

"Jane, you don't have to keep apologizing over and over," Adam interrupted. It took a moment for Joan to realize that Adam had just called her 'Jane'. It felt nice, a warm tingling sensation on her insides, it almost felt like she had just been jolted with electricity.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he continued, Joan hanging on his every word. "Everything had been going so well, it was all normal. You and me, we were just friends again, and I guess that was just fine with me, that was enough. Of course I wanted to be with you again, but I didn't know if I was willing to risk getting hurt again."

"I would never hurt you again. I didn't even mean to hurt you once in the first place," Joan interjected.

"I know. But it still feels awful. When you asked me if I would be willing to try again, I couldn't just let myself give in so easily. I have a backbone, you know."

Joan smiled. "I know."

"So I wanted to really give it some thought. And I did."

"And?" Joan urged him to continue. Adam took a moment before he smiled back at her.

"If we're going to do this, Jane, I think we should take things slowly."

Joan was barely able to contain herself. She just threw her arms around him and squeezed, and even harder when she felt his arms slip around her back and return the bear hug. Her eyes filled with tears and she was laughing, and she heard him laugh too. After a long time, they let go enough to be able to look at each other.

"I love it when you call me Jane," she said breathlessly.

"I know."

Joan sniffled. "Well, I guess this day didn't turn out to be a complete waste," she said, feeling peaceful. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"I guess not," he replied, grinning as widely. Joan sighed in satisfaction. She inched closer to him, her face only millimeters from his.

"I've been waiting to do this for a long time," she whispered.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"This," she said, and she kissed him tenderly. When she pulled back, Adam was smiling even wider.

"Actually, I've been waiting for you to do that longer than you," he replied. Joan chuckled.

"Well, I'm more than willing to make up for lost time," she answered, and they kissed again.

* * *

"And then she threw water on me!" 

"Ah, wish I had been there with a camera."

"Grace, that is so mean. Wonder how you'd like it if someone did that to you?"

"Hey, it's not like I've done anything. I wasn't there, remember?"

Joan shook her head, looking at the phone in disbelief. She was on three-way call with Jordan and Grace, and Jordan was on speakerphone so that Caro could talk too. Joan had been telling them about her disastrous day with the happy ending. She decided not to go into details about Hans and Rosalind's story, but she was very graphic about her making up with Adam. They all squealed (except Grace) in excitement at the news. This time around Joan was really feeling the happiest she had in days.

"Hey, guys, I've got to go bed. My parents are already fussy about the fact that I didn't do any work with Hans, I don't need them to cut my phone privileges," Joan said.

"Alright. We'll talk more tomorrow," Jordan said.

"I'm so glad you guys finally made up," Caro added. "Oh, and you can thank me later."

"For what, exactly?" Joan frowned.

"You said so yourself: my crazy scheme might just work. And it did! Muahaha!" Caro replied with a phony evil laughter.

"Sure thing, Caro. How will I ever thank you?" Joan said in a sarcastic tone.

"Well, I like Jaguars," Caro said.

"Yeah, sure, uh-huh. Dream on, but thanks for your help anyway," Joan answered.

Caro mumbled something that sounded like "dreaming don't cost a thing" before Jordan interrupted. "You go to sleep now, Joan, before your mom gets mad at all of us."

"Night, then."

"Night, Joan. Night, Grace."

"Night, Girardi. Night, Canavaggios."

Joan put the phone down on her bedside table and jumped into bed. She was exhausted for some reason. Hopefully tonight she would be able to get a good twelve hours of sleep, if Helen allowed her to sleep in. This day had been very productive, and she felt she deserved a break.

But after a few minutes, she started to think about Adam again. In spite of her joy for being in good terms with him again, she couldn't stop thinking about how everything had gotten started in the first place; how hurt Adam had been when she broke up with him, how hurt she felt when he waived her off just a few days before. She was afraid to go through that again, or put him through that again. Her thoughts wandered over to college. In less than a year, they would be graduating, and then what would happen? Where would they go? Would they stay together? How was Joan going to deal with going separate ways after she fought so hard for getting back together?

They had never spoken about it. Joan had bee trying to focus lately on getting better grades for a better chance at getting into a good university, that she had completely forgotten what else that would mean. How was she supposed to bring up that subject now with Adam after they had just made up?

All these questions and many more ran over and over through Joan's head while she stared up at the ceiling, trying to shut her eyes and fall into blissful sleep. But now she knew she would stay up all night, thinking how she would be able to cope if things fell apart again.

* * *

As much as I tried to edit, this chapter still was too long. But I didn't want to split it in two, because that would have been a headache. Do you have any ideahow many timesI gotwriter's block whileI wrote this chapter?Hope you don't fall asleep while reading this. 

Joey, you are correct. Isn't that like one of the greatest books you've ever read? Now go read Milan Kundera's "The unbearable lightness of being. It takes you to a completely different level.

Okay, Mike, I promise, this time Dante's really coming along soon. Just have a little faith.

The Original Chemist grumbles something and sighs in resignation, putting his über-monstrous paintball gun back in the case.

Have anice weekend. Thank you and goodnight.

-.In the darkness.-


	17. A notebook full of stories

Author's note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! May you all have a more prosperous, more fulfilling, happier life with the new hope the New Year brings. Sorry for the delay. Thank heavens for holiday vacations; although I caught a bit of a cold which has got me staying home a bit more than I would like (considering I have a hundred dozen Christmas presents I still haven't purchased), but gladly I haven't got assigned anything to do for my sister's engagement party, I have had a bit of time to write. Meanwhile, Seth has been taking good care of me, and once we're over the holiday hoopla, I should be able to get fully back on track. In the meantime, here's the long overdue chapter; I started it right after I posted the last one, and only months later I have been able to finish it in, like, two sittings. Absurd, but true. Please don't kill me.

It's 5:14 p.m. as I pick up the writing, I only got up from my cozy bed just about three hours ago, which is quite early for me considering it was hell driving around looking for an open restaurant at eight in the morning and getting home around eleven, especially if you've been sleep-deprived and not allowed to drink if you're the designated driver (and currently taking a few meds, but not the kind that would get you a traffic ticket), and I have a splitting headache and an aching back from having fallen asleep on my boyfriend's couch for two hours in a really bad position. But after a cold shower and a nice meal of leftovers from last night's party (it's funny how they taste so much better the next day), I'm up and at 'em again.

Okay, not completely true. I would very much like to put a bullet through my head to see if that would make it stop throbbing. Ah, but let's be more positive. It's a new year, and in one more hour I will be able to take another dose of acetaminophen for it. And Seth will hopefully come by later (if he hasn't slipped into a coma in his flat), and we can fall asleep watching some crummy reruns of crummy TV shows (and maybe we'll both go into a coma together and make it through the after party I-wanna-die feeling once and for all). So much for heading into the new year with the right foot. In fact, my silver pumps nearly made me lose my right foot.

Chapter soundtrack: "Neon" by John Mayer, "We used to be friends" by The Dandy Warhols, "Do you want to" by Franz Ferdinand, "God gave me everything I want" by Mick Jagger and Lenny Kravitz, "Starting today" by Natalie Imbruglia, "God-shaped hole" by Plumb, "Autumn's monologue" by From Autumn To Ashes.

"Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that have dramatic consequences." –J.K. Rowling.

* * *

The Beginning of the End 

-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda

Chapter Seventeen – A notebook full of stories

* * *

"It's official. A date has been set for my life to be over." 

Joan looked up from her unintelligible social studies notes to find Erika standing right in front of her looking distressed, throwing her bag onto the floor. It was rather odd to see such a drama queen display coming from a grungy girl wearing a T-shirt that read "You're no safer in first class" with a diagram of airplane emergency exits.

"Care to elaborate?" Caro asked tentatively. She, Joan, Jordan, Adam and Luke were sitting on the front steps of the school building, eyeing their Aussie friend warily, considering Erika looked like she was about to explode. Her nostrils were flaring as her breathing seemed to quicken.

"May 27. The wedding is going to be on May 27. My dad and Psycho Sam are causing the biggest fiasco in history, and ruining my life in the process, with a pretentiously lavish ceremony during the beautiful spring!" she said, her voice getting louder and high-pitched. "And not only that, but they're going on their honeymoon for about three weeks, which means they don't even plan to be here from my graduation!" She looked expectantly at her friends who were all just staring back at her, and she threw her hands up in the air. "What do I do!"

The others couldn't do anything but stare at each other, not really knowing what to say. Erika bowed her shoulders in defeat.

"It's pointless, isn't it? So I should just sit and wait for my death sentence?" Erika sat down between Jordan and Joan and leaned her head on her fist. "Deep down, I guess I just didn't think it would actually happen. My dad has gotten so many girlfriends in such a short time, and here I was thinking Sam would be just another one to come and go."

"Aw, honey," Jordan said sympathetically, rubbing her friend's shoulder comfortingly.

"I just… I'm not going to give up Troy. But I don't know how we would be able to work things out if it's all going to get as weird as this. It's just not fair. I met _him_ before _they_ met each other. _They_ actually met because of _us_. _We_ shouldn't be in this position. How can _they_ expect things to be fine? Oh, and _she_ actually wants _me_ to be a bridesmaid!" She sighed. "Life's a real bitch. This is the sort of thing that only happens to me."

They all fell silent. Erika rubbed her forehead with a painful look in her eyes, obviously very upset about the whole dilemma. Joan hadn't really thought that Erika's displeasure with her father's relationship was something beyond daughter jealousy, because she kept forgetting that Troy was Sam's son. It was obvious now how Erika loved Troy, and vice versa. Joan could hardly imagine dealing with such a twisted situation. She really felt sorry for Erika all of a sudden.

Grace approached the group, unaware of the general mood. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder.

"Hey, Canavaggio. Your boyfriend's coming around like a hot air balloon," she said. Puzzled, they all looked past her, and watched as Remy walked nearer. His short dreads were gone, and now he sported an afro. Joan couldn't help but think he looked hot. She had thought he was good-looking when she first met him, but this was a very nice look for him. He reminded her slightly of one of the hot guys from CSI, which she watched occasionally to gawk at the hot forensics guys.

"And when I say that, I mean it in every sense there is; it's big and round, it catches your eye, and it's full of hot air," Grace said, sitting behind Joan. It was a funny metaphor, and the others laughed; Jordan didn't find it as funny, though. She frowned as Remy walked smoothly over to them, turning a few female heads on the way. A couple of girls coming down the steps eyed him with interest, whispered to each other and giggled. He pretended not to notice.

"Nice hair, mate," Erika said once he reached the gang.

"Is this part of your Halloween costume? Are you going to be Lenny Kravitz?" Caro asked, getting a deadly glare from Remy. "Because I think you should. He's hot," she added hurriedly.

"Jordan…" Remy drawled, as if pleading Jordan to shut her cousin up. Jordan just smiled, though.

"I think you would make a good Lenny Kravitz," she said. "Remy Kravitz." She and Caro burst out laughing.

Remy grinned cockily. "I know I would, of course. But that's not the costume I have planned."

"That's very modest of you," Adam said amusedly.

"His head has gotten bigger, along with his ego," Grace added. Remy did the "talk to the hand" gesture.

The bell rang, and they went inside to head to their respective classrooms. It seemed to Joan that Jordan was hanging from Remy's arm more than she usually did, visibly wary of the looks he was receiving from most girls they passed in the hallways. She had to contain her laughter at the expression on Jordan's face; it would appear as if she was ready to pounce on anyone that would dare to even wave hi to him. Meanwhile, Erika was quiet and gloomy, obviously still concerned about her own issue.

"What are we doing for Halloween, anyway?" Luke asked, changing the subject.

"I heard Rachel Whitaker's holding a costume party. On Saturday, though, because Halloween's not until Monday, and her parents wouldn't allow a party on a school night," Caro said. "From what I've been told, she gives good parties."

Joan, Luke, Grace and Adam sighed, and the others looked questioning. "What? She… doesn't?" asked Caro.

"We wouldn't know; we never go," Luke said.

"Why not?" Remy asked.

"Because she doesn't invite sub-defectives," Joan replied.

"Oh, I see," Caro said. "Am I a sub-defective? I'm not familiar with the cliques around here just yet."

Joan seriously doubted Caro, Jordan or Remy would fall into the sub-defectives category; she really didn't know how to classify them, really. Joan didn't mind being a sub-defective. She had made peace with that, and now she was okay with not being one of the bunch. It just sucked sometimes to be an outcast. It was not really that she cared about the party; Rachel Whitaker was one of the snobbiest girls at school, who just hung out with her snobbiest friends and threw the snobbiest parties. Even when they _had_ been invited to a few, they always felt out of place. Joan, for her own part, didn't usually enjoy partying with the people from school all that much. Kids would just get drunk and do the same stupid antics they do all the time at school and other public places. The difference was that, instead of detention, they would pass out eventually and wake up with the biggest hangover.

Also, last time Joan had been to a party, Judith had nearly died. Since then, it scared her to see kids her age drinking themselves half to death. And she had vowed to never do that herself ever again.

* * *

Joan paid very little attention in AP Chem, trying to study her notes for her and Hans's talk for social studies. It would be kind of awkward to have to talk about their subject in class, considering what she knew now about Rosalind. But Hans had brought her some good news on Sunday, while they were finishing up their project, that Rosalind had quit her job at the café, talked to her parents, and would begin to attend a support program at a clinic for treating eating disorders. Joan had to smile to herself. Getting completely embarrassed had at least paid off after all; she got to help someone. 

Joan tried to block out Lischak's blah-blah and read over her notes. But she couldn't focus very well on that either. Not with Adam sitting next to her, watching her. She smiled and pretended to read. She had been unable to see him on Sunday, even if they did get to speak on the phone (lengthily), and she had been so nervous about seeing him again that Monday that she had taken an extra half hour that morning to get ready, much to the annoyance of everyone in her house who had to endure her desperately running and yelling around looking for a decent outfit.. "How is it possible that you have a closet full of nothing to wear?" her father had exclaimed in exasperation, but at least he was back to his good humor with Joan. After she had told her parents that she and Adam were back together, they both seemed so happy for her that Joan was almost sure they had finally forgotten all about her punishment; which was more than could be said for Luke.

In any case, Joan would probably have a hard time concentrating for the rest of the day. She wanted to be with Adam, and she couldn't wait for recess to spend some time with him. They hadn't actually been alone together since Saturday, and it felt like long enough already. In fact, after all those months of expectation, Joan felt it was long overdue.

The next couple of periods were boring. The social studies presentation went better than she expected, though Hans had trouble keeping on track as he spoke, because he kept stealing glances at Rosalind, who looked like she was about to burst into tears even though she was smiling, and so was he. Joan just wanted to get it over with so she could go see Adam as soon as the bell rang.

At recess, Joan walked down the hallway to get out of the building, hoping to be with Adam alone for a little while. As she hurriedly climbed the stairs, she bumped into a guy. They stumbled and regained balance, then turned toward each other.

"Sorry," Joan muttered briefly. But she paused and stared. The guy looking back at her was very cute; he was tall, with inky black hair and a pair of stunningly deep green eyes. He wore jeans, a dark green polo shirt, which brought out the color of his eyes even more, and an open black parka. Her breath caught in her throat; for some reason, she felt like she had seen him before. "S-sorry," she stammered again, taking a step backward and almost tripping.

He just looked at her, as if scrutinizing her, and she just stood there, as if hypnotized, waiting, hoping, for him to say something.

"Hello, Joan Girardi," he spoke suddenly in a deep but soft voice, and the corners of his lips curved into a smile.

If it had really been someone else, Joan's heart would've skipped a beat at the sight of a smile like that. But at the sound of her name, she just puffed in annoyance. She hated it when God would make Himself look so appealing.

"Ugh, I really don't like it when you sneak up on me like that. And do you ever plan on giving me a freaking, well-deserved break? I've been through enough stuff this whole week, and I'm seriously, and I mean _seriously_, not in the mood for dealing with you right now, so please leave me alone," she announced in one hurried breath. She would've turned around and continued on her way, had it not been for the strangest thing she had seen so far: God giving her a stupefied, offended look.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know we had even met each other. I was hoping for a better first impression, but if you're going to be so inhospitable, then I guess I'll just be on my way," He said in equal annoyance. Joan frowned in confusion. That didn't sound like God at all. She stared in shock as He spun on His heel and started walking away again.

"Wait. What?" she blurted. The guy turned back to look at her.

"There's obviously something bothering you. I think I'll just wait until you're in a better mood, and maybe then we can be properly introduced."

Joan's mind went completely blank. Something very strange was going on. It all fell into place, however, when another guy appeared behind the first one. This one she definitively knew already, a little too well perhaps; the black hair, the brown eyes, and the brown coat. Cute Boy God waved at her, and she was at a loss for words. A couple of previous occasions, God had manifested Himself to Joan in more than one shape at the same time; clearly this wasn't one of those occasions. The guy in the black parka continued to stare at her.

"Don't let her get to you, she's just had a long week," God said to the stranger, and Joan watched the brief interaction in awe.

"Well, that would explain it," the guy said. God grinned and waved at Joan again, then walked away. Joan stared after Him before turning back to the stranger.

"Um, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I guess I must have confused you with someone else," she lied, feeling like a real fool. The boy raised an eyebrow.

"How is that even possible?"

"You look like someone I know," she lied again.

"Well, you shouldn't go around yelling at people until you're sure you're talking to the right person."

"I'll keep that in mind. Sorry for yelling at you," Joan apologized again. "Wait, I wasn't yelling."

The boy gave a chuckle. "You still nearly bit my head off."

"Okay, that is true. I'm sorry again."

"Apology accepted."

They just stood there for a moment, awkwardly, looking at each other. And it was making her blush slightly.

"How do you even know my name? And who are you?" she managed to ask.

He pulled a picture out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a printout of a digital photograph; it showed the whole gang. It had been taken at the Foo Fighters concert, right before they entered the arena. Joan, given the circumstances at the moment, did not look very happy. "Giordana Canavaggio," the guy pointed at Jordan in the middle of the group photo. "You know her, right?"

Joan started nodding. It was all getting clear. "You're Dante, aren't you?"

Dante Venútolo grinned. "The one and only," he said, stuffing the picture back in his jacket.

"So we finally get to meet the famous Dante," Joan said with a smile.

"I'm famous?" he asked in mock amusement, before smiling again.

"Jordan talks about you all the time."

"Aw, that's nice of her," he said with a grin. "She talks about you all the time too. She told me you were her sort of guide at the beginning of term."

Joan had been trying to recall how she had found his face familiar. "I remember now. I saw you once in a picture she's got hanging in her room."

"One of _my_ pictures, ey?" Dante said proudly. Joan nodded. "That's a private collection. It was a gift."

"It's really nice."

"Thanks."

Once again, they were just staring at each other silently, and Joan felt the color rising to her face again as he continued to smile.

"I— I thought you were in South America," she said.

"Actually I just come from Greenland. I'm taking a well-deserved break. You know, relaxation, unwinding, and reminiscing with the good ol' friends."

"Well, in that case, I guess I should take you to your good ol' friends so you can start reminiscing. They're probably outside," she offered, jabbing her thumb in the direction she had been originally heading. Dante nodded and followed her up the steps. They walked silently toward the entrance, and Dante opened the door for her chivalrously. Joan had to smile, her cheeks flushing very slightly. She felt stupid and giddy. Why was this guy making her feel like this?

"Hey, everyone. Look who I found roaming the hallways for a familiar face," she said as soon as she and Dante reached the big old tree in the middle of the school grounds, where the whole group was gathered. At the sight of the newcomer, Jordan let out a shriek and leapt to her feet in an instant.

"DANTE!"

She leapt into Dante's arms and they hugged tightly for the longest time. All of a sudden, they both started babbling to each other non-stop in Italian, and only Caro showed obvious signs of understanding what was being said. When they stopped for air, Caro leapt at him too. She was almost as tall as him.

"Hey, Jay. Nice to see you again. Wicked hair, mate," Dante said as he and Remy shook hands.

"_Grazie_," Remy said proudly. "That's basically all I know how to say in Italian. Four years of knowing the lot already and they don't have the decency to teach me anything else," he told the others.

"Dante, these are our friends, the one's I've told you about. This is Grace, and Adam, and that's Friedman, and Glynnis, and Erika and Troy, and Joan's brother, Luke," Jordan went as she pointed at each person huddled under the shadow of the tree, and they waved at Dante. "And you already know Joan."

"We've met," Dante said with another roguish smile directed at Joan. She just pursed her lips, still slightly red-faced, and just sat down along with the rest, glad that everyone had turned their attention to the newcomer and started asking questions.

Dante briefly told them about the grim weather at Greenland and the nice hot weather down in some parts of South America, surfing in Chile and a bit of climbing the Andes. Jordan invited them all to her house to hang out after school, especially so she could catch up with Dante, and so he could get acquitted to the gang.

"No one will notice you, Dante. You don't exactly look out of place, you know. So you could maybe sneak into Calculus with us and tell me some more about what you've been up to," Jordan was saying. "I bet it has to be much more interesting that equations. I'd like for you to tell me all about what you've been doing all this time. I bet you have a lot of stories," Jordan said.

"A notebook full of stories, in fact, Gioconda. I've been keeping a journal," Dante replied. "I figured, all these places I have visited, all the things I've done and seen, it might be interesting for someone else to read. So I thought I'd keep a record of everything, and maybe I could publish something in the future."

"That sounds awesome," Erika said.

"Meanwhile, Dante, darling, I must say you have picked a most fortuitous moment to grace us with thy presence," Caro said. "I don't know how long you're planning to stay, I don't even care if you already have plans for your stay in Arcadia. But you simply must do something fun with us for Halloween. We were just talking about that, in fact. We have a bunch of costumes we can use, for those who don't have one available. We just don't know what we'll be doing for Halloween yet! But whatever we do, I'm sure we can drag you along, whether you like it or not."

"Well, to answer your questions, although you already stated you don't care, I have no established plans. I'm just here to see you guys and hang out with you. I don't know how long I will be staying, either. But yeah, Halloween sounds good to me," Dante answered, trying to contain his laughter.

"It better," Caro responded.

"Well, according to this flyer, which is all over the school, Rachel Whitaker is holding her annual costume party, after all, on Saturday, and a few of us have already agreed to go. Now all we have to do is convince the rest."

"I'm game if you are," Erika said to Troy.

"I just need a decent costume," Troy replied.

"I already have mine," Friedman said.

"Me too," Glynnis chirped excitedly.

"I'm sure we can whip something together for the rest," Jordan said.

"Is costume necessary?" Luke asked.

"Yes, it is. It's a costume party, silly," Caro grinned and messed up Luke's hair. "Personally, I think Duckie here should ask dear Grace to go as _Pretty in Pink_, and they would be a perfect match, wouldn't they?"

"Careful, Caro. You're stepping on dangerous grounds," Remy retorted, noting the glare Grace was giving the spiky-haired blonde.

"Indeed, a minefield," Caro teased, still grinning.

"Good. Well, now the only ones left to convince are Adam and Joan," Remy said.

"I'll go if Jane goes," Adam said seriously.

"We know that already, Adam. Only if his precious Jane goes, so… are _you_ up for it, fair Lady Jane?" Caro continued, now looking at Joan expectantly. Joan remained quiet. She wasn't much of a party person, and the idea of dressing up to attend a pretentious bash thrown by one of the most snobbish girls at school was not exactly her cup of tea. She looked at Adam, who just shrugged.

"I really have a whole bunch of costumes to choose from," Jordan offered. "You could be cute or sexy."

"Or just plain scary, if that's your thing," Caro added.

"Uh…" she mumbled, noting that everyone was now looking at her, waiting. "Are we even invited?"

"Who cares about that? We could just crash if it were to come to that. We're skilled at that," Caro said.

"Yeah, and a high school Halloween party has got to be much easier than those crazy frat parties we used to go to," Remy pointed out.

"All seniors are invited, Joan, so there would be no need for crashing," Jordan explained. "Well, except for Luke, Friedman and Glynnis, I guess."

"And Dante and Troy," Caro added.

"I'm sure we can work something out for them," Remy countered. "Although I must say we might be a little rusty after all this time."

"Yeah, we've been awfully well-behaved the last couple of years, haven't we?" Caro agreed. "But we can whip back into full gear in no time, don't you kids worry," she said, rubbing her hands together in her evil manner. Dante and Jordan actually looked at each other in concern.

"As you can see, Dante and I have always been the moral center of our group," Jordan said. Joan had to shake her head in amusement.

"What do you say, Joan? Will you come to the party?" Dante asked. Joan had to swallow hard. She was afraid she would blush furiously all over again if he kept looking at her. She stole a glance at Adam and cleared her throat.

"Well, I guess I would. But I'm checking with my parents first. I really don't want to make things worse between us," she finally responded. Even if the party was on the weekend, she thought asking her parents' permission was the sensible thing to do, considering how much trouble she had gotten herself into lately. Knowing this, the others didn't say anything about it but started talking about the party and the costumes. Joan caught Dante giving her a fleeting glance before joining the chit chat. She didn't know why, but something about him really unsettled her. Not in a bad way, though. But she felt uneasy, as if he could see right through her. And she had only known him for ten minutes! She couldn't help it, but she felt naked around him.

As the bell rang for them to go back to class, Dante and Troy followed the rest into the school building. Adam took Joan's hand as they walked back into the school and headed for their respective lockers. As Joan was spinning her combination, a familiar guy appeared next to her. She was half-startled, having expected it to be Adam.

"Oh, hey, I knew I wouldn't get rid of you long enough. What do you want this time?" she muttered moodily.

"Why are you so irritable?" Cute Boy God asked.

"I'm not irritable," Joan countered, but she obviously sounded mildly irritated. "I just wish you would leave me alone long enough for me to have a normal life. I just got back together with my boyfriend. Why can't you give me a breather?" She yanked the metal door open and shoved books into it, then pulled some others out and shoved them into her bag.

"You don't even know why I'm here."

"I have a hunch," Joan replied, shutting her locker closed and starting to walk away. There was a bright orange flyer with big bold black letters taped to the wall, and she stopped to look at it, trying to ignore God reading over her shoulder. It was the announcement of Rachel Whitaker's annual Halloween party, with the time and date and a map to her house. A line of little pumpkin heads bordered the page.

"Hmm… wonder what might have gotten into dear Rachel to invite all the cliques," Joan said mostly to herself, reading the whole flyer.

"It seems only fitting. It's her generation, isn't it? This is your last year together," God noted.

"I guess you're right, and in that case, it's really nice of her," Joan responded thoughtfully. "I just hope it's worth it. I already said I'm going, but I really want to officially make peace with my parents first and ask them for permission."

"Oh, they'll say yes," God assured her. She eyed him suspiciously.

"How do you know?" she asked. God just smiled knowingly, and Joan understood what He meant. It was rather stupid to ask the All-Knowing how He knew something.

"Okay, why are you telling me this?" Joan looked at Him carefully, wondering if she would be able to discern something from His expression. "You want me to go to this party? Why do you want me to go to this party? Is something going to happen? Is there something I need to do? Are you ever going to give me a freaking clue?" she shot question after question, and still His face was plain and virtually unexpressive. Joan sniffed in exasperation.

"What if I told you that you should go to this party, and just have a great time with Adam and your friends?" God began. Joan frowned in confusion.

"It doesn't really make me feel good. That doesn't sound like you at all."

"All I want is for you to have fun in a healthy, wholesome manner, and enjoy your last year with your schoolmates, maybe get to know them a little bit better. It's never too late to make new acquaintances."

"So that's what it's about: getting to know my schoolmates?"

"Yeah, that wouldn't be such a bad idea, would it? Just don't stay later than two," God said, and He slightly emphasized on the last sentence. Joan's expression turned to mild horror. That didn't sound good.

"Why? What happens after two?" she inquired, sounding wary. God shook His head.

"Now there's no need for you to worry about that just yet. Here," He handed her a book, which looked like a small bible; the leather-bound cover read _Macbeth_ in bold golden lettering.

"Shakespeare?"

"You _have_ been paying attention in English class."

"What does Shakespeare have to do with Halloween parties, anyway?"

"Read the book, Joan. It's good reading."

"But all those _thee's _and _thou's_…" Joan eyed the book miserably. It looked really long and heavy.

"It's useful. You'll like it. I promise."

Joan was about to say something else when she noticed God had spun on His heel and was walking away.

"What happens after two?" she called after Him, but He didn't turn around. "Is the answer supposed to be in this book?" She decided to shut up, seeing as people were giving her looks. "Perfect," she grumbled to herself, dropping the book in her bag. "Now I'll have to read the whole damn thing to find out. As if I didn't have enough homework already."

"Are you talking to yourself again?"

Joan was only slightly startled when Adam appeared next to her again. She gave a nervous laugh.

"You know me. I'm a bit of a nutcase, everyone knows it, but I'm okay with it," she replied.

Adam stared at her strangely but smiled. "Who was that guy? I'm sure I've seen you talking to him in more than one occasion, but you've never told me who he is."

"Oh, him? I thought I had, actually. His name's… Josh," Joan answered, luckily remembering the moniker she had already designated for Cute Boy God. "He just pops up whenever he wants. He, um, he was just lending me a book."

"Macbeth," Adam read, looking at the heavy book in Joan's arms. "I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."

"Neither did I," Joan said under her breath as she and Adam entered Calculus. They moved to the back of the classroom to sit with their friends. Joan had to sit next to Dante, who smiled at her. Joan responded feebly and promptly opened Macbeth. She might as well try to get a head start on it. Anything to keep her distracted, anyway, from the teacher droning about integrals, or Dante.

* * *

"Is something burning?" Grace asked worriedly, sniffing the air. 

"Most likely," Jordan replied impassively.

"_Zia_ Estella is going to burn down the kitchen, mate," Caro exclaimed.

Nearly the whole gang was gathered at Jordan's place after school, just as they had agreed. Joan had decided to stop by her own house before heading to her friend's, to talk to her mother and obtain the 'okay' for her to go to this party, before she would allow herself to get all excited and go check out the costumes Jordan and Caro had. Of course, just like God had predicted, Helen said it was okay, as long as Adam brought her home. Still, Joan didn't feel as excited as she had expected; especially not after God's cryptic curfew announcement, and giving her the task to read a very boring, very old book written by the most old-fashioned writer ever, in Joan's opinion; and thinking about the fact that it would take her for-bloody-ever to finish said book when she should probably finish it in time for the party to find out exactly what God was telling her to do, she was obviously less than enthused to say the least. And she wanted to be, of course, considering she was going with Adam, and this would be their first official date after their reconciliation. Was that too much to ask for?

Since she still wouldn't want to find out what could happen if she didn't figure out what her next 'holy' mission was, Joan had dragged the book along with her and was not sitting in Jordan's comfy reading corner by the turret window, to make the most of her time while they waited for the rest of the gang to arrive. She wasn't getting very far, though, because she spent twice as long on each page reading the footnotes, where Shakespeare's strange expressions were explained

"Wouldn't it have been easier to speak more plainly? Whoever would be able to enjoy this, if after every sentence you have to check the footnotes or the freaking dictionary?" Joan was hissing to herself in exasperation, and thankfully no one else heard her. She wasn't in her best mood at the moment, since Adam had just called her and informed he wouldn't go to Jordan's because he had to help his dad with something for a client. On the other hand, if Jordan had a good variety, Joan would get a really nice costume and look really nice for the party and surprise Adam.

"She still hasn't got the hang of the new oven. So until then, she's a real hazard when she bakes," Jordan was explaining as the stench of something being seriously charred got stronger. "Just as long as the smoke detector doesn't go off, then we're okay."

Joan stopped grumbling at her reading long enough to pull the collar of her sweater over her face and hook it over her nose. That smell reminded her distinctly of a mortifying accident that took place a few weeks ago in her own house. Although, in retrospect, that even was much funnier now.

"Well, unless the people who used to live here had a very open concept of what vintage clothing is, I assume we have found the costume trunk in your attic," Remy said between grunts of effort as he and Dante, who didn't look any better, burst through Jordan's door dragging the aforementioned trunk with them.

"Gioconda, what in the Lord's name is inside this thing? Retro bowling balls with matching shoes? Half the set from The Twelfth Night? A body?" Dante said as he was finally able to put the heavy vintage chest down in the middle of the room.

Grace raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. "A body, Dante?"

Dante shrugged. "Stranger things have been known to happen."

"You've been watching too much Desperate Housewives," Grace replied.

"He doesn't watch television," Jordan said.

"Yes, I do, when I get the chance. Just not prime time TV," Dante countered.

"Good for you, mate. You don't want to get sucked into pop culture's boob tube turmoil," Remy said. "With the award season approaching, you would never get away."

"And how would you know all of this?" Grace asked skeptically.

"My mom loves the Housewives," Remy responded.

"I found this one wandering outside our house looking like a little kid who has lost his mommy in the supermarket. Please don't tell me he's one of yours," Jordan's moody sister, Giulia, said, stepping into the room looking disgruntled, with Luke in tow looking rather gloomy.

"Unfortunately he is. You can take him back if you want, though, Julie," Caro said.

Giulia cast one last glance at Luke, rolled her eyes, clicked her tongue a couple of times, and swept out, closing the door.

"Luke, when my sister allows herself to be distracted from her self-centered life, and actually brings you upstairs because she's worried that the poor pathetic creature in our garden could do some serious damage to our dear mother's hard-worked flowerbeds and bushes, that is a clear sign you're being extraordinarily weird," Jordan said in what was apparently a concerned tone. "Where've you been, anyway?"

Luke simply went to sit on the bed, either not having heard Jordan's comment on his odd behavior or just pretending to not have heard. "I stopped by my house. I thought if Joan was going to ask for permission to go to the party, then I might as well do that too; considering she's the good one lately, I can't get away with anything just as easily as before," he explained.

"Aw, is _widdle_ Lukey feeling kooky now he's been knocked off his pedestal?" Caro teased in an aggravating childish voice. Luke shot her a look.

"What did she say?" Joan asked, lowering Macbeth to her lap.

"She thought about it for a long time, but she agreed to it in the end, as long as I get back home with you, and in turn, you get back home with Adam."

"Oh, great," Joan said sarcastically. Her little brother was riding back home with her and her boyfriend; talk about inconvenient. She hastily turned back to her book.

"To tell you the truth, I was scared when I saw her thinking it over like that. It's never taken her so long to give me permission. I really screwed up last time, didn't I?"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," Grace said, quoting 'Gone with the wind' in her own fashion, causing Caro to snort.

"Okay, people. Here be the costumes," Jordan announced in an old-fashioned accent as she popped the top of the trunk open, displaying a mess of fabrics, patterns and colors all bunched up inside the rectangular depths of the wooden box. "It's all up for grabs, so help yourselves."

Luke was the first who ventured into the trunk. He started pulling some of the costumes out, and soon everyone was passing them around, holding them up against their bodies and checking themselves out in the mirror. After a few minutes, Luke spoke up.

"Jordan, these are mostly costumes for girls, you know?" he pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Well, honey, I don't exactly get asked to play male roles very frequently, you know?" Jordan retorted, equally matter-of-factly.

"Except for The Twelfth Night," Caro said.

"That was you," Jordan pointed out.

"Oh, right. Jordan was Viola, and I was Sebastian, because we were the only two people in the drama club who looked the most alike."

"The drama club got lucky; Caro was the only one willing to do it," Remy said. "And plus, with her haircut and her height, she was perfect."

"Everyone was fascinated on how we got the skinniest, lankiest and most gracious blonde boy to play Sebastian, until of course they found out it was actually a girl, and then it made sense," Jordan added.

"Jordan, don't be so mean, you're offending Luke," Grace protested, but she was actually grinning. Luke pouted and went back to the bed and sat down like a scolded child. Dante and Remy smiled and took a seat as well, watching the girls continue to sort through the costumes.

Erika dropped by a few minutes later, owing her lateness to more trouble at home, because Troy had been caught calling a travel agency to make reservations for two to fly back to Australia –obviously for himself and for Erika—, and Psycho Sam had gone into a rant about her only son being ungrateful for everything she had done for him, while Erika's dad badgered both her and Troy for being irresponsible and not nearly mature enough to make this sort of decisions for themselves yet. Needless to say, Erika stormed out and by the time she had arrived at Jordan's house, she was still not in a very good mood, and had to apologize to Mrs. Canavaggio for being rude when the woman greeted her sweetly at the door and unknowingly asked her how she was doing.

"As if she wasn't broken-hearted enough already since she's been burning all the cookies today, and Erika Weston goes and takes a chunk of her head. You're a meanie, Erika. My poor aunt Estella," Caro spoke mournfully, shaking her head in dismay. Erika went red in the face and tried to move away from the subject.

"I feel bad for Troy. I left him all alone to deal with the enraged parents from hell," she mentioned, running a hand through her black hair.

"Well, if he's smart, he'll manage to get away," Remy said, kicking off his trainers and lying on the bed comfortably.

Erika managed to switch to something completely unrelated, and they continued to look at costumes. Jordan's mom came upstairs with a tray laden with white chocolate chip cookies, the one successful batch out of about three scorched in the oven, and Erika started apologizing again and again to her, even though Estella kept saying it was okay.

"I feel like an idiot," Erika said after Mrs. Canavaggio was finally able to leave.

"You are an idiot," Jordan responded, but she really didn't mean it. She chuckled and patted Erika on the head.

"Jordan, you haven't got anything I would be able to wear," Dante said when all the costumes had been laid out and one could clearly see none were meant for a guy.

"Unless you're willing to put on a dress," Grace said.

"I'm glad I already have my costume together," said Remy.

"What are you going to be?" Grace asked.

"Guess," Remy said.

Luke thought for a moment. "Uh… a pirate?"

Remy's face was blank with surprise. "How'd you know?"

"Uh, you told me this morning."

"Oh."

"Gioconda, any ideas, please?" Dante asked, sifting through what was left in the chest.

"Honestly, Dante, why try so hard?" Caro began. "All you have to do is put on a pair of glasses and draw a lightning bolt on your forehead and you're Harry Potter."

Dante sighed. "That hardly works as an offense, dear Carolina, which I do suppose is how you intended it. But I have to say no, merely out of a burning desire to scorn you, because I know how much you love Harry Potter."

Caro put on a horrified face, put the back of her hand to her forehead and threw her head back in a dramatic gesture of chagrin. "Oh, Dante, I'm crushed!"

"Besides, it would probably turn out rather humorous if Harry Potter sounds as if he were reciting the specials of a _trattoria_," Remy added.

"Mm, hadn't thought of it that way," Dante agreed. Joan looked out of the corner of her eye and laughed to herself, trying to picture Dante as Harry Potter. That would've been so cute… She cleared her throat nervously and continued reading. She wished Adam was there with her.

"Oh, look! My Joan of Arc costume!" Caro exclaimed suddenly. She was just pulling what looked like a suit of armor from the trunk.

"Sheesh, no wonder the darn thing weighted so much. How come you guys kept all this?" Remy asked.

"We were entitled to, for the investment we were committed to for the makings of our own costumes. If you want to be in the play, you've got to pay," Caro explained as she pulled the armored vest over her head; when she stood before the mirror, she really looked the part. It reminded Joan of Mila Jovovich when she appeared in The Messenger, with the blunt-cut blond hair and the stringy frame under that thick suit of metal.

"Maybe Joan could be Joan of Arc this time. Wouldn't that be fitting?" Jordan said.

"More like Joan of _Arcadia_. That would be even more fitting," Dante added. "Telling everyone God talks to you and tells you how to save us all from self-destruction."

Joan nearly dropped Macbeth as she turned to give Dante the longest look of wonder, only to find him grinning at her. She had to swallow a lump in her throat, and a feeble laugh was all she could muster to disguise the shiver that suddenly shook her body. It was as if he was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't be sure of what. Did he know? How could he possibly know? His face showed no clear signs of actually trying to convey any hidden meaning. Maybe he was just joking. But even after he and the others started talking about something different, Joan couldn't get rid of the odd feeling that Dante was aware of something, and he was sharing it as a sort of inside joke with her. It wasn't funny at all, though.

Ever since the revelation catastrophe with Adam, in which she couldn't be completely certain if he ever believed a word she said about her year of chatting with God, Joan had been very wary about ever considering letting anyone else now. She didn't even feel like ever mentioning the subject to Adam again. She just wanted to pretend it never happened. And hopefully she was doing a good job. But now this.

"Joan, look. My Lady Macbeth's costume," Jordan said, holding up a beautiful medieval gown of a silky flowing dark blue fabric and lots of brocade. "It should fit you. I thought you might be interested, seeing you're reading the book. Would you like to try it on?"

To distract herself from Dante's strange comment and the effect it had on her, Joan went on to try on several costumes: Lady Macbeth, Juliet Capulet, Portia, Katherine, Viola, Ophelia, a witch, a flamenco dancer, a roman empress, a French maid, and even a black cat. It was sort of fun to try all of these on, but to actually choose was a completely different matter. Joan even tried on the Joan of Arc suit of armor, after much insistence from Caro, but refused to come out of the bathroom to avoid any further comments from Dante. Caro told her she looked beautiful and fierce, just like Joan of Arc was supposed to be.

"Look at you; you're a maiden in shining armor," she had said. Joan just felt very odd and promptly took it off.

None of the outfits she had tried on actually seemed fitting. And she didn't actually feel comfortable at all in any of them. Besides, she wished Adam could've been there to help her pick one, and maybe for him to get something along the same line. She wasn't even sure if she could convince him to wear a costume.

When it was almost time for everyone to go home for dinner, they all had their costumes planned, except for Joan, who was still not paying much attention to anything after she went back to trying to understand Shakespeare's work. Meanwhile, Grace borrowed a fedora hat and a pinstriped coat as part of a gangster costume, which Caro had worn once for a play about Al Capone; Erika got Caro to lend her an exquisite Egyptian queen dress, made for _Antony_ _and Cleopatra_, and promptly left to find Troy and show it to him. Caro herself settled for a can-can dancer outfit, very Moulin Rouge style. And Jordan chose her old witch costume, deciding on a few additions and adjustments.

"I guess you're going to have to come around some other time this week. Maybe I can dig up something else for you," she said to Joan. Joan merely shrugged and thanked her. Maybe next time Adam could come with her, and he could tell her what suited her best.

Eventually, though, as she eyed how little of Macbeth she had managed to get through so far, she had to remind herself of the task at hand. However, for some reason, in spite of the fact it must be important then for her to read the book, and how much she actually –surprisingly— wanted to know what happens in the end and couldn't wait to find out, she couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that she would get no straight answers at all when she finished the book, and that the book had not nearly enough to do with whatever was going to happen on Saturday night. She knew that, in the end, she would still have to figure everything out on her own, and be really close to failing again.

All she wanted was to enjoy the Halloween party. She and Adam were back together, and this could have been a great opportunity for them to have a good time together. But it wouldn't be like that. Because it was her purpose, her mission, just like Dante had put so briefly and inaccurately, to "save everyone from self-destruction". Totally inaccurate, she thought, considering she had no clue how she could ever pull that off.

* * *

"You know what I just realized? Halloween is a distorted celebration," Grace was saying broodingly. She and Joan were sitting in Jordan's study room, where Giulia was, as usual, practicing on the piano, after dinner. "Aside from the fact that it's a totally pagan celebration, we have actually distorted it through time. What used to be most exclusively for kids, with a few random parents playing the part and dressing up on the day to keep the spirit alive, trick-or-treating is no longer the most exploited tradition for that specific date, although costume sales and rentals and candy distribution obviously remain fundamental. But now it's all about what party you'll attend for Halloween. It's been adapted to adults and teenagers so that we can have a chance too of having something out of the ordinary to do during the calendar year. And do you know why that is?" 

"Yes, but you'll probably tell me anyway," Joan mumbled, half-listening to Grace as attentively as she would like. Anything to distract her from the exasperating corniness of Shakespeare. Anything. But listening to Grace rant about another stupid social custom was not really something she enjoyed at any time. Unfortunately, Remy, Jordan and Dante were in the kitchen helping Mrs. Canavaggio clean up, and were currently unavailable to change the subject.

Most of the gang had stayed at the Canavaggio residence for dinner with the cordial invitation of the lady of the house, with the exception of Erika, who left to meet with Troy, Luke, who thought it best to lay low for a while and go home early for dinner, and Caro, who was afraid her own mom would soon put her in house arrest for all the time she had spent out already in all the short time they had been living in Arcadia (apparently she hadn't even finished unpacking her things, and the walls of her room were still lined with boxes). As for the rest, they called home and informed where they would be. Mrs. Canavaggio was making _vermicelli al pesto_, Genovese style, and according to Jordan, it was her mother's specialty, and a gourmet regalement they could not miss. So they stayed, and it was really good; they chatted animatedly, mostly listening to Dante narrating his latest traveling experiences. The evening had gone by in a flash, in Joan's opinion, who wished she wouldn't have to go back to reading her boring book. She was really starting to take a liking to Jordan's mom, even to Giulia, who wasn't all that bad, and especially to Dante, who told fascinating stories.

Joan sighed and closed the book with a loud snap, which made Giulia nearly miss a beat in the piece she was performing. The girl gave her a fleeting glance of contempt before refocusing on the piano, but Joan didn't notice. She had only just spoken with Adam, who had finally been able to get off the work he was doing and promised to swing by as soon as possible so that they could spend some time together before they had to go to their respective houses prior to Joan's school night curfew. She couldn't wait to see him; it amazed her how much she could miss him in only a few hours of being apart. But then again, she needed to see him, because they hadn't really been together much since their reconciliation. And also, Joan couldn't stand thinking about Dante. It was really getting on her nerves. As if she had a crush on him or something.

Which she did not.

She did not.

She did not. She could not.

Could she?

"It's because this inherent need adults and teenagers have for recurring to the ultimate ridiculous social experience to escape the boredom of routine," Grace continued, cutting through Joan's inner musings. "What a better opportunity to do that than Halloween, the one night a year you can dress up as whatever you want, and fulfill your strangest, most outrageous fantasies freely and in public without feeling like complete idiots? Obviously humans resort to this hullabaloo to do things they wouldn't normally do, or can't normally do without being labeled weird or getting arrested. It's the perfect chance for ordinary human being to do some mingling, carousing and rioting, and it's considered normal on that particular night because it's Halloween. It's like you can get away with anything on Halloween. And kids who still go trick-or-treating now will eventually grow up into this new tradition. Do you see what we are teaching these kids? We're raising them to be cultural disturbances."

"Grace, you sound like an old lady," Joan pointed out. "The sort that doesn't buy candy for the kids who dare stop by her creepy dark house to trick-or-treat. You know what kids call that kind of old lady? Witch."

"Oooh, Grace, if I were you I'd pummel her. Too bad your strong, beefy boyfriend isn't here to do it for you," a voice said, and both girls jerked their heads to see Remy coming into the room, followed by Jordan and Dante. They settled around the room and started talking noisily, and Giulia, after making some rasping sound to make known her practice was being disturbed, finally gave up when she saw they were definitively not shutting up, so she got up from the piano and sat on the couch next to her sister. Joan could still not believe how much she and Jordan looked alike. They were like clones.

"Hey, Dante's going to be staying here, in the guest room," Jordan informed Giulia.

"Okay," Giulia muttered.

"Just thought you should know we'll have a male houseguest for a while, so no walking around the house in your underwear while he's here."

"Oh, no, please, don't make changes on your routine because of me," Dante joked, giving the "twins" a chivalrous grin. "Don't mind me. If you want to walk around in your underwear, you do so. I mean, it _is_ your house." The others had to laugh.

"Keep dreaming, you prat," Giulia said with a smirk.

In any case, Joan thought Dante was pretty cool, and it would be nice that he would get to be with his best friend for the time he would be in Arcadia. They went on to discuss what sort of things they would do that weekend, to show Dante around, because he himself wasn't sure how long he would be able to stay this time around, and he wanted to make the best of his time.

From what Joan was able to piece together from his narrations, plus a brief explanation provided by Caro, Dante's father, a free-lance photographer, was paid nicely by a magazine, one could say it was like the Italian version of Time magazine, and he took pictures. He had recently started working for an independent agency as well, to go around the world to take pictures for a travel guide magazine very similar to the popular Lonely Planet guidebooks. Dante's mother had died of cancer when Dante was seven years old, so he often traveled around the world with his father, being home schooled and getting to visit many countries. He and Jordan met when they were eight; sometimes when Mr. Venútolo had a long trip, Dante would stay with the Canavaggios. Jordan's family moved several times over the next few years, after Jordan's dad left, and she was afraid she wouldn't see Dante anymore. But he always visited her, and they wrote to each other when he was away. Dante had taken up photography himself, and he often sent Jordan pictures of the places he had visited (rather like postcards he made himself). Sometimes Dante also traveled alone, so he could also visit Jordan more often and stay longer. And sometimes, in just a few occasions, he convinced her to come with him, and then she would wish she didn't have to go home.

Joan couldn't imagine what it must be like to live like that, living for the moment, seeing and experiencing something new everyday. From her own point of view, it sounded thrilling and fascinating, compared with her life. Even with God popping up every once in a while, which didn't really leave much time for boredom, she knew everyone needed a change of scenery every so often. The only thing she wouldn't change from her usual scenery, however, would be Adam.

That last thought, however, launched a series of other thoughts, which caused her to fall silent while the others continued to chat. She hadn't allowed herself to give much thought to what would happen in a few months, when the gang would graduate. Going to college or working or whatever she would wind up doing sounded great now, but it raised a lot of questions. What or rather who would she have to leave behind? Graduation and starting a new life as an adult was definitively a nice change of scenery, but there was no way to be sure the new scenery would be able to include Adam after all.

* * *

Joan grabbed her bag and checked her mobile. Adam had left her a text message, telling her he was on his way. She found Mrs. Canavaggio, Jordan and Giulia talking in the family room, about the arrangements for Dante to stay in the guest room, which had been accommodated in the third level, in the attic, and was a mess at the present time. She thanked her hostesses for their hospitality and for dinner, and Jordan promised to find a costume for her and for Adam, because they were the only ones who still didn't have theirs. 

Holding Macbeth under her arm, Joan came outside and found Dante sitting on the porch steps; he had a notebook on his lap and was writing something, stopping every few seconds to look at his surroundings, at the dense garden that closed the perimeter of the house. The sky was slowly turning a shade of lavender, with streaks of orange and pink closer to the horizon, where a few clouds still caught the fading rays of the sun. High overhead, where it was darker, stars were beginning to dot the night.

"Hey," she said, trying to sound natural. "Mind if I sit down?"

Dante lifted his head very slowly, as if he hadn't even heard her at all but rather felt her presence nearby. "Come again?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. You're obviously wrapped up in whatever it is you're doing, and I wouldn't want to disturb your inspiration," she said. Even if he probably couldn't see it due to the lack of lighting, she was blushing furiously.

"No, please, you're not disturbing me at all. I was just jotting down some things before I forget," he said, hastily writing a few more words on the page before closing the notebook and putting it aside. "Please, sit down."

Hesitantly, Joan took a step forward and sat on the same step he was. The nights were turning colder now that they were already halfway through the autumn.

"Is that your journal? What you were writing in?" she asked, wanting to break the ice. He nodded and glanced at the notebook.

"Yes. I'm not much of a writer, especially when I have all these thoughts going through my head and I'm trying to write them down on paper all at once, or when I go into some sort of rant. It's a lot of senseless blabbering mess sometimes. But I figured it was a great way to write my experiences and not leave a single detail behind," he explained, leaning back onto his elbows. "I've read a lot of books and I know for a fact this could really come in handy, because writers often draw off their personal experiences to write something. But it's so difficult."

He fell silent for a moment. Joan toyed with the strap of her bag.

"This in a way is the reason why I like photography so much. One single image can say much more than a thousand words. And one single image can be interpreted thousands of different ways, depending on the observer. And each picture tells a story."

Joan was reminded briefly of a certain vintage-looking brunette God stacking his photography equipment and telling her about the millions of eyes that gave a million different perspectives of a single picture.

"You see what I mean? I want to write, but photography makes saying what you want to say so much easier. I'm not so good with words, really. Jordan is the one who really digs it, and she's really good. If only

"Who knows? Maybe years from now, you will have arranged this senseless blabbering mess and brew a real best-seller," Joan joked, gesturing to the notebook. He chuckled, fingering the notebook, playing with the dog-eared edges.

"Maybe," he muttered. "But who would want to read it?"

"Hey, it's not everyday that a teenager goes around the world ten times and constantly has new things to say about the places he visits. I wish I could do something like that. Heck, I would be happy with at least a trip half around the world," she said sincerely.

"It's not as glamorous as it sounds. Sometimes it can be scary and really tiresome," he said. "I mean, I'm used to it already. But on a day like today, for example, when I decide to cool it for a few days, I really think 'sod it, I want to wake up early and go to school like a normal teen and sleep during class and come home and complain about doing homework, and then do it all over again the next day, and the next, and so on until graduation'."

"Then you're insane," Joan said with a laugh.

"It's not insane. I'm not insane. It sounds great, it sounds _normal_. I haven't been normal since the age of six. I wish I could change this lifestyle that I have, but it's too damn difficult. It is. I can't pull it off, because I know how many people would like to be in my place. And I know this is what I do, I can't imagine not doing what I do for the rest of my life. This is who I am, and this is how it's going to be for God knows how long, no matter what I'm sacrificing," Dante said, and he wasn't just being serious. He sounded passionate. Joan couldn't put her finger on it. He just struck her as such a genuine guy. Like Jordan had described him long ago. She and Dante were like the perfect best friends, they balanced each other: he was the soft-spoken, insightful boy, and she was the cheerful, hyperactive girl.

Joan couldn't hide her smile, even though Dante wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the sky, which was getting darker and darker, and more stars were blinking brightly against the dark backdrop.

"Do all your stories really fit into a single, two-hundred page, college ruled notebook?" she asked, eyeing the notebook with curiosity.

Dante made a noise between a laugh and a cough. "Are you kidding? I have a box full of notebooks. I don't know how I would ever sort through all of them. It's really going to take me a couple of decades to get that best-seller going."

"A box full?" Joan gaped.

"Well, shoe box," he said modestly. Joan smiled again.

"Have you ever showed any of that material to anyone?"

Dante seemed to think for a moment before he answered. "Oh, no, never. I don't think I could ever…" he trailed off and fell silent.

"Really? Not even Jordan?" Joan asked, eyebrows lifted.

"Especially not Jordan," Dante replied.

"Why is that? I thought you were best friends. I thought you could share everything. She obviously shares her writing with you, why wouldn't you do the same with her?"

He thought again for a moment before speaking. "Because the idea of Jordan finding out what I think everyday when I'm away is too frightening," he said somberly.

Joan knew from the tone of his voice, and his fidgeting, that she was digging too deep, and she was making him uncomfortable. But before she could stop herself, she asked again: "Why is that?"

There was another, longer pause when he adjusted his position, and took a breath. "Have you ever had something that you want to say to someone so badly, that you can imagine yourself saying it, over and over again in your head, writing it down, but the thought of actually saying it to that person out loud gives you, as a result, a very broad spectrum of possible scenarios, most of which are really scary?"

Joan was speechless. Well, he couldn't have said it better, she thought, remembering how much and for how long she had itched to tell Adam about her religious encounters. She still did not get the meaning of what Dante was trying to convey. He was obviously beating around the bush.

"Well, I'm hoping I would never have to do that," he said. "Maybe she would realize it on her own, and then I wouldn't have to feel so scared."

She wanted to ask 'realize what?' or 'scared of what, exactly?' but she just remained quiet.

"Maybe she would realize one day that the real reason I don't like to travel as much as I do is not because I hate airports."

Joan was still drawing a blank. She knew he was practically baring her soul to her, and she couldn't see clearly enough.

"Why don't you like to travel then?"

Dante responded with a chuckle. "I thought it was obvious," he muttered. Then he gave a shuddering sigh. "I miss her all the time."

Now Joan finally knew what he was talking about. And yes, she supposed it could be quite scary. This definitively opened up a very broad spectrum of possibilities. For a moment she didn't know what to say, because she wasn't absolutely sure she had understood what he had meant.

"Are… are you in love with… Jordan?"

Dante chuckled again, but there was no mirth in it. "No. Not anymore," he said with a shake of his head. "A few years back, maybe, yes…" He didn't look at Joan, and she could not look away from him. His face grew dark.

"I just hate to admit that I have the prettiest best girlfriend, and she's never even… looked at me that way… not even for a second…"

Joan was silent again. She really didn't know what to say. She thought Dante was very sweet, and she felt bad for him. His best friend was completely oblivious to his secret affection for her. It reminded her of Adam, and how he had a crush on her since the first time they met, and how she sometimes pretended not to know, not wanting to hurt his feelings. But things had evolved with them, and in spite of the highs and lows, she was glad they were still together.

But Jordan and Remy were a great couple, and Dante would obviously never intend to come between them. He would not want to lose their friendship.

"She's my best friend. That's good enough for me now," he said in a very low voice, as if mostly to himself than to Joan.

She smiled. She couldn't believe how open he was being with her, having just met her and all. "Your secret's safe with me," she assured him, but she guessed that was overstated.

"Sometimes I could swear it's possibly not a secret anymore; that it has never been. But I wouldn't really want to know," he muttered, smiling back.

There was a honk, and Joan looked up to see Adam pulling into the curb in his battered red pickup truck. He lowered the window and waved at her. She waved back.

"That's Adam. I've got to go." Joan slung her bag over her shoulder.

"It's been a pleasure talking with you," Dante said, standing up and holding out his hand to help her to her feet. She took it and he pulled her up easily.

"Thanks," she grinned. "I guess I'll see you around."

"See you around, Joan of Arcadia."

She walked down the little path through the garden. Once she reached the little fence door, she looked back. Dante was looking up at the stars again, on his feet, and he lingered only for a moment before climbing the porch steps and going inside the house. Adam got out of the car and hugged her.

"Hey, was that Dante?" he asked.

"Yeah. We were just talking outside while you arrived," Joan said as they rounded the car and he opened the door for her. "He was telling me one of his fascinating stories," she added as she climbed into the passenger seat and Adam closed the door.

"Yeah, he's an interesting guy. Shouldn't be easy for him to ever run out of things to say," he agreed with a laugh. He got into the car and they drove away.

On the way to Joan's, he was telling her about his day, the work he had to do and so on, while Joan listened absentmindedly. What she was really thinking was about Dante's notebooks, intrigued about what they might contain. It was on the back of her mind the whole way, while she was with Adam, and she was still wondering about it later that night, when she put aside the book and went to sleep, thinking about what he had said about Jordan. She wondered if he really didn't feel the same way about her anymore, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was a great guy, but Joan perceived he was filled with a great melancholy. It couldn't be easy to be away for so long from the one person who makes him feel good. Joan could relate to that.

* * *

There you have it, you've finally met Dante. Mike and Jake are happy, I expect. This was long overdue for them, but the expectation is what makes it better, right? Now that you've met him, you will definitively see him very often. Hope you liked him. He turned out to be more like Jake than like Mike. Hope he doesn't get upset. 

This is sitting number three, by the way. Definitively took me longer than it should have, considering how much time I've had in my hands lately. NOW I've finally finished the darn thing, and I'm not even entirely happy about how it went. I think it turned out too long, but there's no way to edit it. Especially not this last conversation with Dante.

Don't expect next chapter to come very soon. I've got loads to do. This term is going to be hell, I can tell. And I'm not even working anymore! But it hasn't been a whole two weeks and I've already got massive schoolwork. I'll try to speed things up, but I won't make any promises.

Thanks for reading. Hope the New Year is treating you fine so far. Me, I'm not complaining right now, but I do hope it gets better. In the meantime, we'll just have to do the best we can.

Hugs and kisses.

--Gioconda--


End file.
